


Snowblind

by Harpalyce



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Blood and Gore, EXTRA SPICY NOT MILD HURT/COMFORT AYYY, F/M, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, hurt/comfort to the max ain't no mild about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpalyce/pseuds/Harpalyce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After giving him up for dead, Katara finds herself facing Zuko once more - even as they are both imprisoned by the cruel new conqueror, the Goshawk Queen of the Earth Kingdom. (Utterly shameless hurt/comfort.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Katara was expecting many things when the jail's door swung open on rusty iron hinges. Torture equipment, for one - racks, wheels, other sick arrays of bloodied cold metal made for only one purpose. Chains hanging heavy ready for her to be put in them. Perhaps a fireplace or a tower of embers stuck through with glowing white-hot prods ready to burn a confession out of someone.

What she was not expecting was to see someone whose funeral she had attended a mere two weeks ago.

He lifted his head, squinting against the sudden light of the open door. There was a new cut on his lip, and his nose was a little bloodied; his hair hung into his face in lanky unwashed strands and tumbled into tangles down his shoulders. Looking away from his face was difficult, but adrenaline at least guided her to assess all of the situation. He was chained peculiarly. Ankles seemed sensible enough, each shackle separately chained to the wall. His hands were dangling mid-air, out to his side, limp in the restraints that went to the ceiling. And hooks - two of them, awful and brutish, had speared the meat of his shoulders, holding him up in a test of endurance. There was blood both fresh and new in the holes they tore, and threatened to tear more if he dared to try to lay down or even rest against the stone wall behind him.

Despite wanting to scream, her voice came out small and trembling. "...Zuko?"

A crooked, sad little smile. "Evening, Katara."

"Ah, yes, the happy reunion," drawled the gaoler. "I'm sure you two have quite a lot to talk about." The man walked in even, measured steps, his long emerald cloak fluttering behind him. The gold embroidery at his shoulders flashed even in the low lamplight: feathers at his shoulders, showing a man respected among all of the Goshawk Queen's army. "Maybe you can give the Firelord an update on how his troops have fared at the latest battles. Perhaps mention the massive losses at Sincheon? I understand that the Fire Nation battalion suffered not only a defeat, but the death of nine-tenths of its men... all because Water Tribe and traitor Earth Kingdom forces dragged their feet. Especially the Water Tribe. Apparently Sifu Katara's father was their leader. I'm sure she might have some... insight."

Katara's head was still full of numb buzzing - the static of shock that was clouding her senses - but apparently Zuko's wasn't. He gave a laugh that was more of a grunt than any true expression of entertainment. "So obvious it's pathetic."

"Well then, Firelord." The man said, sneering as he reached out to catch Zuko's chin in his hand. "Perhaps Sifu Katara would like to remind you how if you simply sign the surrender, this undue suffering can finally come to a close."

"Go to hell," Zuko snarled back. In response the man pulled him forwards, and the hooks in his shoulders caught - dragged - cut into fresh skin - but he was so determined to not give the gaoler any satisfaction that all he did was make a low noise deep in his throat, even as he curled his upper lip in disgust. Katara could barely see the subtle movement of his jaw, but one moment more and he found the strength to spit in the gaoler's face.

The other man let him go with a hard shove that made Zuko's chains rattle as he stumbled. And he delicately sopped up the saliva from his face with his beautiful cloak before turning to the both of them. "Leave her here for awhile; there are still more preparations for the Queen's visit. Come along, quickly, now!" He sounded rather annoyingly schoolteacherlike, and the guards swarmed Katara, locking her into chains with her hands pressed together behind her back. Then as quick as they came, they withdrew, standing at attention in a row by the entrance.

Zuko was still taking a few heavy breaths to help him with the pain of the meathooks in his shoulders, eyes shut and head dropped to rest his chin on his chest. When he finally spoke, he didn't lift his head, and had he not sounded so overwhelmingly exhausted, Katara was sure his tone would have been sad and wounded. "I don't even get a hello back?"

"No! I mean - of course you do, it's just -" Katara drew a sharp breath in through her teeth. "Your funeral, and - " She knew she couldn't help the trembling sneaking into her voice. "We all thought you were dead. All of us."

The little laugh he gave was relieved. "Was it nice, at least?"

"What?"

"My funeral." He half lifted his head as he spoke, seeming too tired to do much more than that.

"It, um..." Katara blinked rapidly. "It was. The entire city's still all white and crimson for it. Aang gave a... a very nice speech, and all the people are still mourning for you, and oh Spirits," she said, quickly blundering into a finish as she looked up and blinked hard. Every little detail was starting to be monumentally overwhelming. Her hands were shaking, making the chains around them rattle. "I'm sorry. It's just - it doesn't seem real yet. It doesn't seem real."

"You mean that you were so sure I was dead, you can't even look at me now." His voice was awfully small in such a large cell.

"No, no, it's not like that! It's just - "

"You don't have to apologize."

"That's not like it at all! I promise! And I'm sure you know it -"

"- don't blame you at all -"

"- you've _got_ to know it's wrong to think that -"

They were talking over each other, suddenly overlapping and scrambling to argue in circles. Abruptly they were jolted out of it by shields clanking together as loud as cymbals. In the ensuing silence, the gaoler once again cleared his throat for attention. "How lucky you two are," he purred. "Her Highness has graced us with her presence early today. Now. Guards, collect them, if you would." Once again the uniformed soldiers came to collect them, keeping most of the chains in place; she heard Zuko cry out as the hooks were ripped from his shoulders. The soldiers all but had to hold him up even as he tried unsuccessfully to keep his feet under him.

"Zuko?" Her voice, high-pitched in worry, cut through the clatter of the guards' uniforms well enough for him to lift his head. "Zuko - when was the last time they gave you anything to eat - or drink?"

"Can't remember," he answered dutifully but breathlessly.

Even without her years of studying healing, Katara knew that was a bad answer to such a question. "...Slept? I'm guessing you also can't remember."

"Mmn. A longer can't remember, though."

She bit her bottom lip in frustration and worry even as the guards continued to drag them along. At least the haze and static of the shock was fading from her mind, ebbing away to just a feeling of dull dread. This was a situation that absolutely could not end well, and currently, she had no idea how to get out of it. Katara wasn't naturally inclined to panic, but if she was, now would be the time for it...

There were fanfares as they were dragged from the long, dark corridor out into the light. It was blindingly bright, mirrored lanterns making the light multiply and dance around them. The soldiers were all in the same emerald green uniform, some wearing feather-shoulder embroidery and some not. And they were all looking to the center of the room where a woman, thin and tall, was pulling her cloak around herself - a cloak made of very many pieces of metal attached to velvet, each bit of metal pounded thin and long in the shape of a feather. But there was something else. Something that made her speak up, even as they were dragged to stand opposite the opulently-dressed woman.

"Zuko - " Her whisper was urgent, weaving between the guards like a well-placed blade. "Do you feel that?"

He didn't say anything, just one emphatic nod yes.

At the very least it made her feel a little less insane. There was something intangible humming in the room, in their heads, on the tip of their tongue making their teeth ache and itch. Maybe they had felt licks of it before - at the Spirit Oasis, perhaps, or around Aang deep in meditation. This was harsher and more oddly animate. More importantly, this felt like something that didn't want to be there.

The woman opened up her cloak wide, making all of the little feathers clatter and chime, showing off how even its velvet lining had rich embroidery showing every single feather of her false wings. Then she let it drop, chiming, to rest behind her; it lingered and made its way down the steps behind her in a lazy train. The rest of the room had fallen silent enough for them to hear every small noise of the rich cloak, and every footstep of its wearer.

"The Goshawk Queen." Katara murmured mostly to herself - the whisper hung in the air, fiercely angry.

After a long moment of silence the woman laughed, and smiled. She wasn't young enough to be freely called pretty, but she was far from ugly, even losing the transient beauty of youth. Her smile seemed a little too wide as she strutted towards them. "You may simply call me 'your highness', you know. Better to get into the practice of it now, I think. Then you can teach your father when I capture him." She stopped directly in front of Katara, folding her slim hands in front of her. "So this is Chief Hakoda's darling little daughter Katara, then, hm? I suppose I should be calling you princess." A quick glance up and down - one that was piercing enough to make Katara feel inexplicably naked and bare. "I'm not all that impressed, I have to say. I expected the Avatar to have better taste in lovers -"

"We're friends!" Katara barked out. "N-Nothing - nothing more -"

"Oh, so perhaps it's the other one the Avatar has been drooling over?" The woman leisurely let a finger roll open to point at Zuko. "That would explain things. Aang's effeminate weak will." And suddenly she was before Zuko, looking him up and down. "Though again, I'm not impressed. A thousand years of incest on a tiny island will bring you such mongrels as this -"

She had been reaching out for Zuko's face, as if to lift his chin up and inspect him like cattle. But in one quick, animal movement, he snapped at her, teeth clacking against teeth, a sudden spurt of energy he had been saving for some base act of defiance. As her hand snapped back, she frowned, curling her lip. "Mongrels and mad dogs, it seems." A sigh, and then she turned her back on them, instead motioning to one of her advisors. "I believe I asked you to break him, but leave his mind intact."

"Oh, it is, my queen," he answered quickly. "He's, ah, he's just play-acting -"

"He damn well better be." Her voice was scathingly cold, and her frown terrible. But it inexplicably morphed into a coy smile. "Now, then. Gentlemen... I believe you're here for the show, are you not? A quick demonstration of my powers and I am sure your doubts about joining my cause will be erased. Then we can count on you and your noble houses to be here - to be part of our glorious crusade against the Fire Nation, wherein we will finally be paid what we owe!" Her voice swelled to a crescendo, and the room burst out in applause. Even the well-dressed, slightly nervous-looking nobility politely clapped.

"Zuko?" Katara looked over to him anxiously, mostly to confirm that he hadn't actually collapsed while being held up by his jailers. He was still there, barely standing, shoulders trembling. "Zuko, I've got a bad feeling about this..."

"I've got a worse one." Katara couldn't quite tell if that was a joke gone awry, but it came out with exhausted and groaning fatalism.

In any case the strange feeling in the air was growing heavier, thicker, almost sizzling on their lips with every breath. Making a great show of it, the Goshawk Queen spread her arms, furling her cloak, and then in one smooth motion whipped it off. The metal feathers chattered and clattered as she shook them, and finally, she threw it up into the air. It did not fall down. Instead it stuck there, as if it had been whirled and stuck against an invisible wall. All at once the metal feathers hit each other, rapidly vibrating, and suddenly it was not just small metallic sounds: first windchimes and bells reverberating nonsensically from the small metal feathers, then rushing water, crackling fire, the roar of a steam engine, and then suddenly thousands of human-like voices murmuring all at once, young and old, in every dialect, growing louder and louder - Katara started to shy away, and Zuko grimaced as it pounded on their ears, so loud it hurt -

Then it was silent.

Each metal feather stuck straight out from the cloth, looking like so many rows of needles. And they pierced... not the air, but something far different. Something that bled. Black dripped from the tip of each metal feather, spreading down and across until, finally, there was a portal, a great irregular thing of swirling tar. The Goshawk Queen smiled widely, stepping up to the portal and putting her hand against it. Suddenly the sticky black pitch scurried away to the very edges, leaving something as clear as water or even glass. Soft colors moved behind it, each crowding around it as if trying to see through from the other side.

"The spirit world," the Goshawk Queen announced with a flourish. "The key to our victory, you see. Now, if luck's with us, the Avatar is already meditating, and may witness this in person, but if not..." She held up her wrist, and the portal's clear surface stretched, deformed, and finally let free a jet of pure emerald: a goshawk spirit that landed on her wrist as soon as it came through. "We have witnesses. Many witnesses. Now..." She motioned, snapping her fingers with her free hand. "Bring the disfigured mutt here. And the girl there."

At least the guards were a little more gentle with her, Katara thought gloomily; they dragged Zuko along even as he tried to get his feet underneath him. The Goshawk Queen continued to point. "Before the portal, yes. Very good. And have him kneel." They forced Zuko down, even as he drew frustrated breaths in through his teeth. "Head up. As to see his face." Zuko actually grunted as one of the guards grabbed his hair and jerked his head back - he had been silent until that moment. "Excellent. Let us begin."

She reached out once more to tap the portal, and it shimmered, focusing into greater clarity. Innumerable spirits peered back at them, crowding anxiously to see the view, and the Queen smiled brightly back at them before addressing them directly. "Ah, Spirits... forgive the intrusion," she purred. "But do take note. I bear an important message for the Avatar... if he is not here already in disguise." Her eyes lingered on a spirit painted in saffron yellow strokes that looked suspiciously like Momo to Katara's eyes. "My demands are not extravagant. I merely ask that justice be done, and that the Fire Nation learn under my rule to never again become a war machine. Simple measures, such as taxes to cover reparations, and -"

"It's a trap!" Zuko's voice was strained, but he shouted above the Queen as loudly as he could. "She just wants you out in the open to kill you! Don't come for us, it's a trap, it's - " He was cut off with another grunt that became a wheeze. One of the guards had put a hand around his throat, and Katara could see him straining to breathe.

"How uncouth," the Queen cooed. "But not unplanned for." She took off one of her gloves in a sensuously languid motion, then the other. "Let him breathe. We do so want the Avatar to take heed for what is about to be pushed out of his lungs." Zuko was released, and immediately began gasping for breath while all but snarling at the Queen. "I imagine seeing a dead friend must be quite a shock. But really..." With his head held firmly in place, Zuko couldn't get away as she reached out to pet at his temple, curling a bit of hair around her finger. "We can do so much worse than just simple death. Oh, so much more interesting things."

Katara grit her teeth. With all the attention on Zuko and the Queen, it was just enough for her to waterbend, subtle enough over the noise of the spirit world leaking into reality. Just enough water from the air, from sweat, all around the room, and it could fit perfectly into the shackles that kept her cuffed. And if she could get rid of her shackles on her wrists, she could work around those on her legs - long enough to take a step was long enough to run. Toph had told her the basic theory of lockpicking one day, after she'd expressed amusement about how criminal and lawbringer had so many of the same skills. Water made an adequate pick. If she could snake it in - yes, just there - and force up the first tumbler (there, done) and then the second (spirits, this was easy, so much easier than she expected) and then the third - Katara bit her lip and looked down in concentration. The third, the fourth, but the fifth, the fifth was being tricky...

She looked up just in time to see the Queen's fingers twitching, holding up a piece of stone by Zuko's face. It looked pointed at one end - almost like a spade - the handle of the instrument, whatever it was, had been lovingly carved with birds of prey in flight, and the black granite was well-polished and gleaming -

The fifth tumbler fell out of place, and the lock remained closed -

"I think the Avatar needs a demonstration about how fates worse than death might start. So... Firelord, dear, smile for our audience, won't you?"

The stone was so close to his face, so close, and then her fingers moved and it was _inside_  -

The scream that ripped out of him was not the sort of sound anyone forgets. Even the soldiers would have dreams of it, waking up shaking and sweating in the middle of the night. There was something awful and primal about it as it rushed past his teeth, almost as if it followed the same trajectory the polished stone spade did. And the spade - well, in its own right, the granite and the carving was beautiful enough on its own, but something about the act was so brutally swift that it had its own perverse elegance. The golden amber iris of Zuko's eye shone in the light, same as the wet slickness of the rest of it, the perfect circle of the eye freed from its socket, the tangle of nerves that strung out behind it and unravelled in blood and gore as they went, the sudden blood gushing down Zuko's face and playing on all the little nooks and crannies of his burn as it did...

It was a spectacle, and from her smile, the Goshawk Queen knew it.

Katara answered his scream with her own. Suddenly the last part of the lock didn't matter, by some luck or grace it was in place and her handcuffs were gone and even if those and the chains were the only weapons she had, she would make do - bringing them up and around, kicking off the guards, stumbling, falling, catching herself and looping the chain around another guard's leg as she did. Zuko was still screaming, howling in pain in tones that caught the most primal and animal parts of her and put them alight with sympathy. The guards stepped away, and she was thinking too furiously to consider how odd it was that they would do so. Instead there was Zuko in pain, and her half-freed from chains, and she pushed and shoved in desperation even as she grabbed Zuko's shoulder and forced him up to his feet to run.

In the back of her mind she must have known the Goshawk Queen was laughing, but she didn't acknowledge it. She must have known the guards weren't following even as they rushed out. There wasn't space for that - there was room enough just for action, and just for that. She knocked over a few braziers as she went, but mostly she was focused on keeping Zuko with her, even as he desperately held his hands over where one of his eyes had been but no longer was. The blood seeping between his fingers left a clear mark of where they had gone. She must have known this, but she didn't acknowledge it. Instead she just ran, searching for water by desperate instinct. Zuko was trembling and unsteady, and at least when his legs finally gave out, she was able to pull him into one of the side rooms. He was gasping in pain, chest heaving - after so many weeks without proper food, it was plain to see how his lungs struggled against his ribs like two animals overgrown for their cages - but dehydration was more deadly, more immediate, and now he was losing blood as it ran down his face -

Some dignitary's quarters, she had to assume. There was water here, formerly in the pitcher, but now all in the shallow bowl on the nightstand after someone had washed their face. It wasn't the most pleasant, but it would do. A quick wave and the pure water floated in a bubble above the bowl, leaving soapscum behind, and she guided it back into the pitcher before grabbing the thing and offering it to Zuko's lips. He gulped it down with blind desperation, coming up gasping harder. One hand was still clamped over his burn - over where his eye had recently been removed.

"Do you think you can stand up? Even for a little while, just until -"

He shook his head no. He was still trembling from exhaustion, now mixed with flinching contortions out of pain.

"Just until I find something, some way to -"

"Go," he pleaded, voice thick and rasping. "Just go, Katara. There's a stream they use to - to get in and out -" He couldn't seem to think beyond that sentence, looping around to sincere begging once more. "Just _go_."

She shook her head, hair flying in her face. "No, not without you. I'm not leaving without -"

 _"Please!"_ It burst out of him in a half-sob. For a moment he looked as if his free hand was reaching out for her before he corrected it and brought it down to grasp weakly at the stone floor in an attempt to steady himself. "...Please."

There was the clatter of armor down the hall. The adrenaline was buzzing in her head still. "I'll come back for you," she vowed. "With enough water from the steam. I'll be back here in no time. And we'll both get out of here. I promise. I _promise_." And then she stumbled to her feet, already racing out of the room down the empty corridor, taking the stairs down by twos and threes. Somewhere water was near, and getting nearer with each step. She would come back with it all around her, double handfuls ready to be relief for Zuko and whips for the rest. Then - then somewhere there had to be some tea. First, all the tea he could drink, while she healed him. Then bandages. And as soon as they were out of this place she'd hunt down congee, and fresh fruit, and roast duck - everything she vaguely remembered he liked to eat. Something in her mind stirred and then finally settled, like a restless cat having finally found a spot in the sun to sit in. Yes, that was a plan. Now that she had a plan, she could do this.

She must have known that the hallways were empty for a reason, but it didn't factor into her plans. So when she descended the last staircase, breathless and tense, she froze like a deer caught in a snare.

The Goshawk Queen stared her down, smiled, and started clapping. Deliberate, unkind applause. "What an excellent show, Sifu Katara. Ah, I forgot, I should say Princess, yes? Princess of a little village who has already spared all it can, yet refuses to see reason, even when its twin sister does."

"What? What do you..." And finally she saw two of the soldiers in the crowd blocking her from the small stream in the cave. Familiar faces. It tickled at the edge of her senses until she realized that their golden feather pauldrons, despite the recent embroidery to mark them of the Goshawk Queen's army, were of Northern Water Tribe make. "H... Hahn? Sangok?"

Two who had been lackluster teenagers had grown up into hard-eyed adults, apparently. Hahn was the first to speak. "The Fire Nation stole my fiancee from me."

"But Yue gave herself willingly, she -"

"The Fire Nation _stole_  her from me," he repeated, voice full of cold fury - though an odd type, as if they were talking about a possession instead of a person. "And I intend to find some princeling or noble with a daughter who protects some sacred Fire Nation grove, and fully return the favor."

"We only want justice, Katara. Only what we're owed. You and your father can't see that, but the Goshawk Queen can, and -"

"Revenge. You only want revenge," Katara corrected.

"Exactly. And we're going to get it."

The Goshawk Queen was smiling broadly, even as Katara found herself locked in trying to glare Hahn down. "How charming," the Queen purred. "But let's move on, shall we? So much to do, so little time? Hm? Do come quietly, little Princess." Katara was about to raise her voice to argue and set in to struggle when the other woman continued. "Every act of defiance will become something your friend the Firelord has to pay. And I'd be quite happy to keep digging until I have ample proof that even inbred Fire Nation nobility have brains, and do so twitch and scream when you find them."

Katara went quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

"...And here you are, Princess Katara."

As soon as she heard the gaoler's voice, she jerked her head up, tensing, bracing for the worst possibilities. It was hard to say how long it had been. Days, maybe. They were close enough to the water that she could feel it, but only if she concentrated, and they were far too inland for her to feel the sway and roll of the tides. Darkness did not make a very good clock.

But now she rose to her feet, going over to the side of her cell. "Zuko!"

"Yes, yes, your very own precious mutt is back," the gaoler said lazily. And indeed, the guards behind him drug Zuko into the room. He was at least well enough to put up a struggle, Katara noticed, which was a good sign. He looked... better, actually. His missing eye had been bandaged, and it was only now starting to soak through the thick linen. His breaths came a little easier, his skin a little rosier - his remaining eye more keen, more alert. But he was gagged, and as the guards stepped into the room, the gaoler reached over to lift up Zuko's head by force as to inspect his face. "We even fed and watered him for you. Something to be very thankful for, indeed."

Zuko snarled around the gag, glaring up at the other man. What the gaoler didn't tell Katara was that there had been a price to everything. His face had been held down in the water again and again. The weak gruel served in a dish, with his hands behind his back, and a boot pressing down on his neck. There was absolutely no kindness to it - just another form of torture.

More guards followed them in, this time, carrying a large brazier stuffed with glowing embers and long iron pokers glowing red-hot in among them. Enough to make it almost look like some quilled beast, if made from hot rock and steel. And then there was a block, something that another set of guards unfolded, looking almost like a carpenter's sawhorse, but with thick leather straps at the end just before weights so heavy it was a difficulty for two guards working together to hold the thing. One of them was going to be strapped down. It was inevitable, now. Katara felt nausea rising in her throat as she looked at it.

It only got worse when she looked back at Zuko, who was staring with the look of a man who knew exactly what all the instruments were for, and was not sure he could endure another round of their use.

"Stop gawking, boy." The gaoler gave Zuko a hard slap on top of the head that sent him reeling dizzily. The other man seemed quite pleased with this, and his smile grew even wider as he looked to Katara. "There have been new orders, you see. I'm sure you'll be very grateful to know, Princess, that the Goshawk Queen has decided - as a kindness -"

"I don't need her kindness and I don't want it," Katara snapped back.

But the gaoler continued on, undetterred. " _As a kindness_ , to not formally begin your torture yet. A gift from one woman to another, I believe she called it. Which is a pity, because I had fully intended to start with you today." He cracked his knuckles as he spoke, puffing himself up like a self-important guest lecturer coming before a class. "You see, there are... certain techniques that one thinks of naturally, when torturing a woman." The gaoler pulled out one of the red-hot pokers from the brazier, nodding off-hand to the other guards. "Strip him and tie him down, would you? Yes, now, where was I... ah, yes." As he cleared his throat, she pressed herself against the bars of her cell and tried to catch a better glimpse of Zuko in their grip. He wasn't struggling anymore - in fact, there was something stiff and frozen in his movements, as if he was trying to shut out what was happening to him. Underneath his shirt, she could notice, now, dozens of red marks. They hadn't been quite as prominent before. And they all looked rather exactly like the same width as the iron pokers. They ran like an animal's tracks down his front and back, underneath his pants, and on - as soon as they pulled those off, she shied away.

"What, no natural curiosity?" The gaoler teased. "Or perhaps you aren't interested in what you already know?" A hot blush struck her cheeks as firm and strong as a slap. That needling remark, out of all others, actually hurt. Somewhere within her - the place that had doggedly hoped Zuko would still be alive, the place that had mourned the loudest, the place that re-read all of the letters Zuko had penned as unacceptable drafts to tell her that he was so sorry, but he seemed to have fallen in love with her - that place  _was_ curious. And that seemed immediately complicit to what was going on. Desire had made her the gaoler's accomplice in some way she couldn't quite understand, and that was making her sick.

"But. Back to my point. Yes, one thinks of much more obvious ways to torture women," the gaoler said, broadly gesturing with the iron poker. "Especially with these, you see. After all, isn't it natural, when a man sees a pretty woman, to ask her for a -" He shoved it in-between the bars of the cell, making Katara stumble back. "...little poke?"

And the gaoler leered over her, and her jaw started to unhinge as she worked out his meaning.

"Then my plans were a bit interrupted, you see, with the new orders. But that's quite all right. I've worked out a solution, you see." The guards were fastening the straps around Zuko's wrists and ankles, bending him over the wood, making sure the bindings were tight enough to make his fingers go pale. "Because her highness, our most benevolent Goshawk Queen, gave me further orders. To break the Firelord, here. And that got me thinking... about if I needed to change my plans at all, you see?"

"...Spirits, you can't," Katara started out at a whisper, but her voice grew louder with every syllable. "You can't do that to him -"

"It just means," continued the gaoler,  flourishing the hot poker once more, "that there's only one hole for all of these to go in, instead of two."

Zuko had finally lifted his head, seeming to snap out of the frozen fear that had gripped him. Now terror was plain on his face as he tried to struggle, tried to speak around the gag, tried to move - Katara's head was pounding, there was hardly any water in the air, and none of the guards were carrying a hip flask or canteen - the full meaning of his words were soaking in deeper with every second, making bile rise to the back of her throat -

"Spread his legs farther apart. ...There." The gaoler's commands were relaxed in tone as he walked steadily closer, predatory, ready to pounce.

"Please! Take me instead of him! _Take me instead of him_ , you can't - you can't do this to him -!"

"Now... I'm sure you want to put on a good show for your lady companion - so do try to smile, Firelord..."

Something almost a whimper through the gag -

"We'll start with this cooler poker... all the better to leave some flesh to burn later -"

"STOP!"

There had been a wellspring of twisting anger and nausea tumbling in her chest. It wasn't Katara's fault that sometimes, her most powerful waterbending was the most innate. She had not meant to do it, but it had poured out of her. With the word came the waves, the push and the pull, the desire for liquid to turn to comfortable ice, all mingled with the desperate desire that one syllable communicated. Blood was just water, after all. Humans were just water, just water in something like a wineskin, trapped in a honeycomb of flesh like a plant's, with the occasional twig of minerals floating in the middle of it all.

She had not  _meant_ for it to happen, but she couldn't say she wasn't happy that it did.

The gaoler had been the unlucky one. Most of the others were sporting icicles jutting through their hearts or heads. As they toppled over, something within them cracked hideously, frozen through. And each jutting stalagmite of blood had overflown in excess to kill them. But the gaoler had only gotten an icicle to his neck, and his blood still ran slow and half-frozen from the chill. He gagged helplessly, eyes wide, unable to do much more than open his grip and let the poker fall to the floor. It landed just close enough to Zuko's face for him to shy away in fear.

Katara finally remembered to breathe after the shout, and gasped like someone finally coming up for air after nearly drowning. And Zuko was breathing hard, too. But shallow breaths of panic. She had to get to him.

It felt awful, using blood instead of pure water - dirty, and tainted, even if she wasn't using bloodbending to impose her will on another human. Instead all she wanted was a small hook to kindly and gently get the keys from the gaoler's belt, and then to bring them to her hands. It seemed to take forever to find the right one, fumbling with the key in the large lock, but finally it opened. Katara grunted as she pulled the cell door aside, and then nearly slipped and fell in her eagerness to get to Zuko.

"It's all right, it's all right - we're getting out of here - " She tried to undo the leather straps by the clasp and then finally gave up, bending a tiny sliver of water between Zuko's wrists and the leather and pulling, hard, making the water into a blade sharp enough to cut him free. And she made sure to focus only on his ankles, not letting her gaze stray. As soon as he was free enough he scrambled for his pants, managing to get them on before shakily falling to his knees again as if dizzy from the thought of near-torture. Katara gently untied his gag even as he continued to gasp, chest heaving, eyes closed as if trying to blot out recent reality from his mind. And she held him. It was immediate and innate to clutch each other.

Eventually Zuko's breathing settled down from terrified gasps to merely labored, but he didn't pull away from her even as he spoke. If anything, he held her more tightly, as if she was his sole tether to the world where constant terror was not the norm. "We... we should be getting out of here soon," he murmured. "The guards will notice."

"You're right." She pulled away, looking nervously to the doorway. "Can you stand?"

He nodded curtly once. "And walk. Running's..." He took a deep breath, and again she could see the lines of his ribs pressing clearly against his flesh; something inside her cried out in desperate sympathy. "Don't know how long I could keep it up, but I'll try."

"We'll need to sneak our way around anyway." Gingerly, she stood, and helped him up. For a moment he swayed on his feet as if about to collapse again before finally steadying himself. She still kept a hand gently at his back to guide him, and apparently, he didn't mind. Eventually she let it drop, and this time, her hand reached for hers, silently holding it. There was a quiet understanding that had this been another place and another time, there would have been a discussion about it. Gentle teasing followed by blushing followed by simply enjoying the feeling of another person's skin next to your own. But those conversations were going to have to wait.

Thankfully, the corridors were quiet, and bare feet on stone even more so. Armor, however, very much wasn't quiet at all, so as soon as a guard turned to patrol down the hallway, Katara pulled Zuko gently into one of the other rooms after silently opening the door. Thankfully, the cell was unoccupied. And even better, the guard had a drinking canteen at his belt. He didn't notice as the water snaked out of it to then hover behind him, forming into a club; in fact, he hardly seemed to notice even as he toppled over unconscious from a blow. There was the clatter of armor on the floor, and then silence again. Katara looked to Zuko, and he nodded back at her - they could move on. _  
_

Like golden mole-rats being hunted by a dragon hawk, they slid from doorway to doorway in short bursts, keeping out of sight. But even as they drew closer to the main hall - to where Katara remembered the route to the outflowing stream - something made them both tense. Zuko locked his jaw, and Katara couldn't help half-grimacing. There was something in the air again. Not gentle. Instead it was too harsh, like sunlight focused by a mirror. Some part of them was squinting and shying away from it, they just couldn't quite tell  _what_.

The answer finally came when Zuko spoke the first word in a quiet whisper that Katara had heard in a long while. "...Spirits."

"I know, it's awful," murmured Katara as she poked her head around a corner to scout out their next move.

"No, I mean...  _Spirits._ " His insistence caught Katara's attention, and he gestured to the inside of a room across the way from them. Its doors were wide open, and something within it was producing milky, hazy light that seemed to clot and congeal in a loose circle right at the center. It was flat, but tall, almost like a doorway. And there were members of the Goshawk's army, proudly displaying the metal feather pauldrons they wore, working on reaching into the light - whatever it was - and drawing something out. It was thin and golden, threadlike, and came in stops and starts. The larger tangles of it actively resisted against the others until, finally, they seemed to submit, with the army sorcerers surrounding them with ribbons of energy. Their golden light turned to purple, and the bands of energy collapsed in on them to become black shackles. Then they were tossed into the floor, through a grate, into some pit that they couldn't quite see.

It was unnatural. It hurt to look at. Something wrong, on some great fundamental level, was going on here, and that's when it finally made sense to Katara. They were spirits, being dragged back to the material world, being given form just to become lackeys for the Goshawk's army.

One of the sorcerers cursed as the golden light he was trying to control thrashed, and then finally broke free. Before she really knew what was happening, it was speeding towards them - Zuko stumbled back, barely catching himself on the wall, and cried out in instinct as the spirit shot forward towards him, piercing his chest -

"Zuko!" She didn't bother to keep her voice down, knowing they were already spotted, and Zuko leaned heavily against the wall, slumping to the ground and covering his face. "Zuko, are you -"

That was when he threw her off. When he stood, something was  _different_. It was not a subtle change, either. His gait was different, and he tossed back his hair, grinning at the sorcerer that had been wrestling with the spirit momentarily before. And even though the sorcerer apparently dropped into some bending pose, Zuko sprinted forward with a loping, confident run, and calmly leveled the man in one punch.

"I've been wanting to do that for quite some time, you son of a whore," he declared to the now-unconscious sorcerer in a rather pleased tone. It was Zuko's voice, but... it wasn't  _Zuko._

Katara didn't have much time to think on that, because the others in the room were noticing, so she readied her water-whip; it lashed out to trip one of them, but it was hardly needed - Zuko, or rather, whoever was using his body currently, easily dispatched the other two sorcerers extracting things from the spirit world. It was fiendishly simplistic, brilliantly executed hand-to-hand combat - the smooth moves of an expert. And not something she had  _ever_ seen Zuko do before.

As he strode back over to her, shoulders square and confident, Katara curled the water around herself and stared at the man nervously. He, however, didn't seem to be bothered. "Oh  _my_ , what have we here? Some other prisoner my cousin picked up, I'd guess, you're far too pretty for Zuko."

"Who...?"

"Ah! Yes! Introductions!" He bowed with a flourish. "Lu Ten. Maybe you've heard of me? My father, General Iroh? Yes? No?"

"Y-yes, I know him," Katara said after a moment. "But -"

"I know, I know, I'm dead," Lu Ten said with a wave of the hand. "Minor inconvenience, really. A problem easily surmounted! And quite a lovely coincidence that now you have me to rescue you instead of my cousin, you'd probably end up, oh, I don't know, drowning in marmalade or something if Zuko tried to rescue you, lovely boy, he does try  _so_ hard but, alas, living proof that one needs more than effort, you know?" A wink didn't quite work with only one eye, and this was the first Lu Ten seemed to notice it. He frowned a moment, marching into the other room again to rummage around a pack of supplies - and Katara hurried after him, sticking close out of necessity.

Instead of pulling out a weapon, or any useful supplies, Lu Ten quickly found a small mirror and held it up to himself. "Spirits above! I didn't think anything could make the poor sod uglier, but he's managed it, hasn't he?"

Katara couldn't help a small indignant squeak bubbling out of her. "I-I happen to think Zuko's quite, um, quite -"

Lu Ten turned on her wide-eyed. "Hm? What's this? Holding a torch for him, are you? Oh  _dear_ , well, let me tell you, I'm sure you can do much better outside of prison -"

"I knew him before this! I've known him for  _years!_ " Katara snapped back indignantly.

Lu Ten's expression changed again, and then he looked her up and down. It wasn't exactly a pleasant gaze to be on the receiving end of, since he didn't really make an effort to hide the fact that he was evaluating her figure. "I see, I  _see_ , yes, that changes things  _considerably_..." And then he started laughing. "Spirits above, I'm damn proud of him now! All grown up and sampling the natives!"

Katara's mouth fell open as the blush came over her face. "I - I am n-not being -"

"Though he really can do better, let's be honest, unless he likes them, ah, plump? I've never really seen the appeal, really, but you know, that side of the family - you know how they are," Lu Ten chattered, tapping the side of his head. "Actually! You said you knew my father, yes?"

"Yes, uh, he runs a tea shop now called the -"

"Excellent, excellent!" Lu Ten patted her on the shoulder. "Listen, I really must ask, would you do some haunting by proxy for me? I'm sure I can figure out some payment some way or another. Just go tell my father that while his devotion to my mother really is quite admirable, and romantic, and all of those other sappy things, the fact of the matter is that we need the, you know, not raving mad side of the family on the throne, yes? So that the Fire Nation can be led by someone who's  _competent._ "

"Zuko is competent!" Katara shot back indignantly.

Lu Ten shook his head and tsk-tsk'd. "I can hear the doubt in your voice already. Just more proof that you should do this errand for me. Really, quite simple, just find my father, tell him that, and see that it gets done. I mean, I'm sure that he can find a whore with a suitably ambitious gleam in her eye, there's got to be people to hire for that sort of th _hhmphhgh-_ "

Katara huffed while Lu Ten tried to dislodge the sudden block of ice that had come into his mouth as a stream of water and had, as it solidified, ended up effectively gagging him. It took a moment of Katara flexing her hands back and forth into fists for her to figure out what to say. "Now just - just  _listen here_ , damn you - Lu Ten or whoever you are. I genuinely - I'm not - " She sucked in a breath and then let it out through her teeth. "You are wrong in so many ways, but I can't explain right now, because we're a bit busy trying not to die. Got it? Zuko's not in good shape. Neither am I. But we need to get to the stream out of here if we have even a chance of escaping. And we can't do that if you are being an... an insufferable little...  _brat,_ " she finished, spitting out the last word.

Lu Ten looked genuinely hurt, hand going to his chest in a gesture of shock.

"If I take out that gag, I need you to help us. All right? I can... I'll deliver a message you have, whatever you'd like in return, as long as we get out of here. Understood?"

Lu Ten nodded.

"All right." After a moment the gag melted, and then whirled out as a small banner of water that hovered ready by Katara's hand. Lu Ten reached up to stretch his jaw before finally giving a hrrmph. "Okay. Now I guess, if you have anything you want in return..."

"Well," Lu Ten said, rather unsubtly staring at Katara's chest, "you  _could_ strip down, maybe -" Her expression and the water whip coming up near his face made him back away, waving his hands. "Joking! I was just joking!" His tone shifted to something a bit more sheepish, almost as if he was embarrassed to give up the grandstanding and boasting for even a moment. "...Zuko's my cousin. Even if he's my, well, slightly pathetic runt of a cousin, I'm still going to help him. He's blood. I don't need anything in return." Lu Ten's voice grew a little softer. "Perhaps if there's just... one thing that I could ask for..."

"If it's for me to jump up and down a few times, I am going to smack you  _so hard_ -"

Lu Ten laughed. "No, no! Not that. Just..." His crooked smile suddenly lost all of its playboy wittiness. "Tell him I love him, and no hurrying to come meet me, all right?"

Something within Katara relaxed, and she smiled. Finally, he had become not just a cocksure prince, but Iroh's son, and that was someone she could trust. "I can absolutely do that, Lu Ten."

"Thank you." A moment of quiet and then the grandstanding was back. "Well then! I think that this will be easy enough, eh? I can just toss this aside..." He reached down to heave up the grate of the pit in the room. Below it, Katara could now see tiny figures - or rather, blobs with vague faces and arms pawing up at the sides. Each one was purple, lined with black, and she could almost feel the bitterness and hatred rolling off of them. "Here we are! One distraction, ready to go. ...Oh, you'd better come over here and catch him, by the way. I'm fairly certain Zuko's going to faint when I do this."

Katara scrambled into place, and, true to his prediction, when the goldenspun light of Lu Ten came out of him, Zuko collapsed backwards. For one terrifying moment as she held him, limp and unconscious, Katara wasn't even sure he was breathing. Then, thankfully, he gave a dizzy groan and pinched his nose. "What the..."

"I met your cousin Lu Ten. He's a jerk, by the way. But he's going to get some sort of distraction going, or something, and anyway, I think we're close - only a few rooms over."

Zuko blinked solidly a few times and then looked up at her. "Wait. What?"

"Yeah, it doesn't really make sense to me either." Down below, the golden light was sipping between the other spirits, leaving scorch-marks in its wake - bright gleaming brands that shook off the black shackles. The spirits all were becoming more restless, reaching up in arms that appeared more defined with every moment, both human hands and animal paws alike, and their mere dots for eyes were doing much the same, becoming more solid, blinking and swiveling. The golden light popped up at the other end, and managed to arrange itself into an accurate facsimile of a person - just the outline, as if the person had been covered in stardust while invisible.

"Now might be a good time to start running, by the way," Lu Ten said with a wide, glittering grin.

Zuko stared, blinking rapidly as if he still didn't quite get it, but Katara pulled him to his feet. "Come on, I think I can feel the water this way..." By the time they slipped into the adjoining room, they could hear shouts from the guards as the angry, freed spirits grew and grew, piling into the corridors. Each of the rooms seemed to be more strange than the last. Instruments made of brass and glass lenses, intricate looking systems of weights and clockwork - and all of them seemingly not built to do much of anything at all. But the Goshawk men who were dutifully at them all were rushing to the corridor, and it only took that distraction for Katara and Zuko to run past.

They were getting close to the water. To the stream that would carry them out and to safety. Katara could feel it pulsing in her blood, she could almost smell it like a hound on the scent. To have her element so near was revitalizing. She just wished she could say the same thing for Zuko. He was at least still on his own two feet, but barely; he swayed and braced himself against the wall when he could, and it seemed like only momentum was keeping him upright the rest of the time. But at least they were close. They were so close, and -

Katara opened the next door. Beyond the other exit she could feel water rushing. There was just the problem of the room, which was covered in... something.

"Ugh." Katara poked at the sludge with a toe. It was dark purple and sticky, but something was distinctly  _wrong_ about it, just like the portals to the spirit world. It wasn't warm, and wasn't deep, but still had fat bubbles rising to its surface in the middle apparently out of nowhere. Zuko braced himself against the doorframe and grimaced. Slogging through it would be as pleasant - and as tiring - as dragging one's feet through a swamp. Katara gently squeezed his hand. "Hold on, I'll go over first. There'll be enough water for me to make you a bridge to cross over." He merely nodded, then let his head drop; it was becoming more obvious just how much all of the torture had taken out of him. Katara tried to push it out of her mind because the longer she thought on it, the more her mind put reality together with facts she learned as a healer - the more she realized just how close to death he truly was.

The first step oozed between her toes, and she grimaced. The next was even worse. It definitely smelled like pitch, and it was dripping from the ceiling in overhanging fat droplets that wouldn't quite come down, giving her obstacles to walk around. Another few steps, and it had blackened her feet. A few more, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it was going up past her ankles. And her head... her head was pounding. Something was twisting in her stomach. And it  _burned._

Why was she thinking of her mother? Her mother, dragged away by Fire Nation soldiers... of the black snow falling, of her village getting smaller and smaller, being whittled down by cruelty. No, it didn't have anything to do with the situation, but she still thought of it - and it smoldered in her veins. And then - thinking of Zuko as she had first met him, the smirking little prince with the ponytail, the way he clutched her necklace (not just her necklace, her  _mother's_ necklace!) in his hand and smiled at her all fangs - it was making white-hot anger shoot through her thoughts. Lying, he was a liar, that day in Ba Sing Se, he turned against them, turned against all the mercy she could muster and met it with fire -

She stumbled, falling forward. The pitch was past her knees, now. And now on her hands, where she had caught herself. Up her wrists. Climbing towards her elbows.

Liar, liar,  _liar_ , miserable thing, not worth the air to keep him alive, not worth a drop of water, or blood, or time, so beneath her, so wretchedly beneath her -

These were wrong, and she knew it, but the white-hot fire of hate was still running strong -

It was climbing closer, now.

She couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it.

_Liar._ Miserable thing. Not worth anything but what it would take to kill him.

It climbed into her mouth, and then Katara couldn't think at all. There was only the hate, pitch-black and fire-white, screaming out of her.

If she could have remembered what happened next, it would likely have haunted her. But the pitch had taken over, and it stretched out from her arms, extending them, helping her to become the monster that it wanted to be. Zuko called her name again and again, and barely dodged the first blow. Out of instinct, he flashed fire outwards; it caught a bit of the pitch that had broken off. And it burned fiercely and brightly as the droplet rolled into the next room. That was all Zuko needed to know to not use his firebending again. If it went up, Katara would perish in the flames, too. That was unacceptable. There was more commotion from outside the hall, but the few spare soldiers who rushed in were nothing compared to the newfound might. Katara's arms, long and clublike, formed of the pitch sticking to her, swatted them aside as soon as they entered the room. One she even pulled apart, separating head from torso in a grisly spray before casting him back outside. And then she turned her attention to Zuko. To his credit, he was good at dodging, but there was still pitch on the walls. One roll sent him shoulder-first into the pitch, and he couldn't dislodge himself quick enough. He had to watch, calling out her name, as the unnatural fingers of pitch came for him and grabbed him.

His screaming didn't break the hold it had over her.

The only thing that did was a golden arrow. It pierced the black, and the pitch screamed through Katara, horribly pitched and gargling. At the doorway, Lu Ten's spirit stood, frowning, ethereal bow still in his hand. And the golden shimmer from the arrow spread in the black, running down unseen veins, coursing through it. All of a sudden, it began to loosen its grip, giving up its stickiness and instead flaking away like old paint. Katara blinked, dizzy, as she finally found herself on the ground again, not rising up as part of the pitch monster. Her hands were her own again. Her head was still reeling. But it was clear. It was her own.

"...Zuko?"

She squinted, almost remembering what had happened, only able to come up with a vague feeling of unease. Then she raised her head to look at the blood, eyes wide, and finally, after an eternity -

" _Zuko!_ "

He was slumped against the wall. One of his legs twisted unnaturally, still caught up in the now-flaking pitch, with bone clearly jutting out through the meat of his calf. Blood was hanging from his mouth in a solid line from his bottom lip. And - Katara's heart leapt up to her throat - she couldn't see him breathing.

It took what seemed like centuries to reach him, having to scramble through the stuff as it flaked and disintegrated beneath her feet. But she fell to her knees beside him, gently shaking his shoulder as her heart pounded in her ears. What if she'd killed him - what if she had come all this way, only to kill him herself -

He groaned, face coming out of slack unconsciousness and into a wincing snarl of pain. Katara couldn't figure out any words, a sharp cry coming from her as she immediately scooped him up into a close hug. He was groggy and weak, but he was alive. For a brief moment a sob threatened to slip out of her as Zuko weakly returned the embrace. "Still here," he slurred. "Don't worry. I'm still here." Evidently the pain of his leg hadn't fully hit, and Katara eventually drew away, flustered, looking down at it. Before she could say anything, Zuko tried to adjust his position and immediately gave a sharp grunt of pain. "...Can you set it?"

"I think... maybe. I can at least make a temporary splint out of ice after it's done. That should help keep the swelling down. It won't be comfortable, but... you could probably limp along on it," Katara said quietly. Even as she did, she fought to bite down her own nausea. She had done that to him.  _She_ had done that to him -

"Do that, then." He was breathing heavily, barely there, but he set his jaw and braced himself. It was the first time in a very long while, Katara thought, that she had wanted to sob as she worked. The bone crunched solidly as it made its way back in, and Zuko couldn't help but give a wavering cry of pain.

Katara looked up just in time to see his face - on the cusp of going slack, eye half-rolling back into his head. It was just enough time for her to leap forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "Zuko! Zuko, look at me - " A half-cough caught in his throat, and his good eyelid fluttered. " _Look at me_ , you've got to stay awake, all right? You've got to stay awake -" It was shameful, she thought, how much her voice was shaking. But it did the trick. Zuko gulped, blinked hard, and then looked back at her, no longer on the brink of unconsciousness. He was fighting it, even though it obviously took a great effort from how he was gasping.

In that moment, Katara wanted so badly to kiss him. She ached with the fierce desire to at least give him a token of how much she cared, to help distract him from all the pain and to keep his spirits up. But as a healer, she knew that another shock was the last thing he needed, and as a friend, she was well aware that Zuko didn't even know that she had found his hidden letters to her - much less that she returned his feelings. One thing at a time. Anything more would put him in more danger. Even if keeping it bottled inside hurt, and hurt far more than she had ever expected it to.

The ice cast was thankfully quick to assemble, and she gently helped him up. He grunted as she aided in lifting him upright, clutching at his side with one hand, the other looped around Katara's shoulders. "...There. Steady, all right? We can go a little slowly if need be." She wasn't sure that it was actually helping him to listen to any of this, but it was helping her to say it. "The stream's so close. It's just beyond the next door, I can feel it. And.. and we can get out of this place, before we run into any more surprises." That description actually made him smile, a half-second of a grin and breathy laugh. "We can ride the stream out and find somewhere to relax and recuperate, and I'm sure we can find a way to get a message to Aang, as soon as he hears the news I'm sure there's no way anything can stop him coming to get us, then it'll just be one ride on Appa back to the safest place for us to be..."

"We're going to be all right," Katara repeated as if trying to convince herself of it as she turned the doorknob. "We're going to be all right -"

"I wouldn't give a man promises if you can't keep them, Katara."

She jumped, and Zuko lifted his head - immediately Katara bristled in anger. "... _Hahn._ "

The water tribe warrior stared them both down, voice and expression cold. "Strange how we keep meeting like this," he said, pacing back and forth along the stone floor. "It's almost like you're in denial about how the Goshawk Queen feels about defiance." Beneath them, a creek ran hard and fast, a hole cut into the stone in the floor and side wall so that one could easily drop into the water with a boat and be carried away by the rushing current. Hahn saw Katara's eyes look at the rack of kayaks and other light, quick boats hanging on the wall. "Don't even think of it. I'm giving you one chance, and that's only because you're  _technically_ royalty, same as Yue," he said, pointing his club at her. "Come quietly, and I'll kill the mongrel quick. One blow. Struggle, and I'm going to help tear him apart in front of you inch by inch."

"Please, Hahn, just turn around - think of what Yue would want you to do - think of -"

Even though his breathing was labored and blood was dripping from his mouth, Zuko lifted his head to look Hahn in the eye. "What she really means," he slurred, "is go to hell, you miserable bastard."

Katara stopped mid-sentence and closed her mouth. Well, that  _was_ what she was thinking, she couldn't deny it... But it was also a phrase that made Hahn snarl with anger. "What did you just say, you -"

"He said go to hell, you miserable bastard! Honestly, I know you water tribe natives are sometimes thick as komodo rhinos. No offense to the fair lady, of course!"

"Lu Ten!" It was likely a rarity, but at that moment Lu Ten's wisecracking - coming from an eerily spectral voice - was one of the sweetest things she had ever heard. There was a flurry of golden glow as Hahn turned around and around, cursing in bewilderment, before finally Lu Ten's figure coalesced in front of Hahn with his bow drawn in the other man's face.

"What a lucky man you are, Hahn of the Northern Water Tribe," Lu Ten said slyly. "Seems your fiancee wants a word! Well, not quite your betrothed, sorry. Just some spirits she has dominion over. Animal spirits. And by a word, I mean, they're going to have to deliver the message. With bites. Probably to your crotch." Katara saw Hahn's eyes widen and the color start to drain out of his face as he started to back away from them towards the door. "Did I say crotch? I meant throat, actually. Or both. I think it's actually both," Lu Ten chattered pleasantly. And then, in one swift movement, the door cracked behind Hahn. An ethereal paw, glowing with silver-spun threads, punched through it and flexed its paws. It belonged to what looked like a snow leopard, if painted in midnight darkness, and much, much larger than normal. In fact, the spirit couldn't fit its head through the door. So it settled for catching the shrieking Hahn in its claws. Hahn continued to wail, clawing at the stone, as the great cat drug him back into the corridor.

Lu Ten turned to them just enough to slyly wink, and then in a golden flurry was gone again. Katara left Zuko bewilderedly staring after him as she wrestled a boat down from the rack.

"...Katara?"

"Yes?" Her reply was slightly muffled by the kayak half-balancing on her head as she tried to get it down into the water while simultaneously tied on to the dock so that it wouldn't immediately be carried away.

"...I thought you were slightly kidding, earlier, about the Lu Ten thing. Or I was hallucinating. But... I mean, the giant cat...?"

"Oh, I saw it too. I think I've seen enough strange stuff in here to last me through several lifetimes," Katara grumbled, hopping down into the boat and offering a hand out to Zuko. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Yes," he sighed in a tone of sheer, heartbreakingly genuine relief. " _Please_."


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as the small hide canoe splashed down, the ruckus behind them grew to an even louder crescendo. The Goshawk Queen's armies were pushing back. A touch of nausea fluttered in Katara's stomach: Lu Ten went into the battle knowing it wasn't a jailbreak for all of them, but only a distraction for Katara and Zuko to escape.

There wasn't time to think about it more. Archers, all wearing pauldrons of feathers and wielding thick recurve shortbows, fought their way into the room. One arrow followed another and another and another, and Katara hunkered down into what was a comfortably familiar stance. Water up. Cold into ice. One arrow embedded itself in the shield before it could make it through. She would have to watch their escape - more boats were dropping down, full of archers and a navigator, trying to pin a lucky shot on them.

A small noise at her back, as if Zuko was about to say something and had to clear his throat first. She shook her head. "Get down -  _GET DOWN, Zuko - !"_

And he obeyed without any more fuss. It was only some time later that she figured out he dove down to what would be the perfect place to look up at her skirt, if he felt so inclined, but it appeared he was even more oblivious to this fact than she was. Time was a whirl of different byways, steering the canoe down what seemed the least likely path to be followed, knocking down boats on the walls where there was another entrance and clogging tunnels full of slow-melting ice. They stopped following shortly after she began this. But she knew that wasn't good enough. They'd come back with a more concentrated and organized search party. No, she had to leave them with innumerable possibilities, she had to stop and make fake footprints with water up the side ladders to outside exits, she had to leave ice standing in spikes to trap them. The first trapdoor up was tantalizing but ultimately she decided against it. The reason was simple. Up and out was dirt, dust, and cobblestone roads. If Toph had been with them, perhaps that would have been acceptable, but she wasn't, and therefore, that route wasn't a valid choice. A speeding river could get them farther away more and more quickly than anything else. Besides, there was an innate comfort in being surrounded by her element. Something soothing, something grounding and keeping her there.

She tried not to think about what she had done with her element - about murdering the guards. Why, she wondered, did it feel like murder instead of self-defense? It was simply using her bending, and she would have been doing much the same if she had used her water-whip to stun them all to the side or even cut men down in her path. But it still dragged her down with guilt. Filth, more accurately. Something awful and dirty how in that moment she had realized that humans were nothing more than sacks of water trapped in cells of meat, and how she had used that knowledge innately the moment she cried out. She wasn't sorry the guards were free, or that she and Zuko had escaped. She was just sorry about the way it happened, and the thought of it was making a solid knot of nausea twist in her stomach.

Eventually things settled down, leaving the canoe riding a bow-wave at the crest, speeding down a long and ultimately disused-looking tunnel. What brought her back to the more immediate and material things wasn't sudden. It was roundabout.

It was a wheezing cough.

The last time she'd heard such a sound was two years ago at the Southern Water Tribe. There had been an influx of Northern Water Tribe homesteaders in the wake of peace, and one of them had been Siluk. A nice man, if a little old - a face weathered beyond his years, thick lines in leathery skin - bright eyes shining like buttons beneath bushy eyebrows. He talked about how things were more wild, and how he liked it that way. And always, always beside him was his polar bear dog Qimmiq. Most of the time he didn't seem to even care for a warm bed in a proper house, not when he could pitch his tent and curl up with Qimmiq around him for warmth. A nomad in the truest sense of the word. A relic. He came to town to trade furs, meat, and other such things collected from far beyond the town walls, but the last few years had been bad, and he was obstinate about accepting charity. Which was why it was so strange when Katara offered to take a look at Qimmiq and he accepted immediately between muttering anxiously how worried he was for the dog.

Heavy, heavy wheezing. Just like she heard now.

Qimmiq, of course, had been in a bad way. An enlarged heart, fluid around the lungs, complications from something else on top of that. Katara had tried to break the news to Siluk as gently as possible. Spirits knew the man lived alongside his dog every day, he must have known it was coming. The kindest thing, she remembered telling him, was a quick death, rather than something long and drawn-out. That was a dog owner's duty to his charge.

Later that afternoon she remembered the wailing from the courtyard, Qimmiq's limp body with blood between the eyes, and Siluk falling to his knees beside it. Two blows, he said between his gasping sobs. It had taken two blows, and he was already bringing the rock down for the second when Qimmiq looked up at him with a look of utter betrayal, not understanding why her beloved master would do such a thing to her. The townspeople had gathered around, gently guided him over to the tavern, kept him well-supplied with needed drinks and a bed for the night. The next morning they'd found Siluk hanging from the rafters. His belt had been a quick, cheap, and effective noose.

All because of heavy wheezing. Just like now.

The nervous twisting in her stomach curled into nausea and a fluttering shock of panic. She stumbled a little, nearly knocking over the boat as she turned around, finally falling to her knees to see what could be done. Zuko was unconscious, struggling for each rasping breath, curled up loosely in the bottom of the boat. She tried to call his name but only ended up with a whimper as it died in her mouth, as wholesome a taste as ashes.

It was irrational and emotional and she hated herself for it even as she did it, but she gathered him up into her arms and held him close - too close, maybe, just a tad too crushing on his bruised ribs so that he groaned around a gasp - and she nuzzled against his shoulder and tried not to cry. Instead she kissed him, gently pressing her lips in-between his shoulder and neck. Then again, and again, as if that was some panacea that would help. At least his breath was still hot hitting her shoulder, at least his skin, while cool to the touch, still had warmth beneath it. He grew a little less limp as she held him upright, breathing easier, and his eyebrows twitched and furrowed, his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, his eyelid flinching in deeper blinks even while closed as he drifted closer to waking up. One more kiss, maybe, and then that was it. She chanced it anyway, kissing his cheek, and then wrapping her arms around him to keep him warm.

At some point Zuko groaned - a wavering, weak noise - and his remaining eye opened, squinting blearily out into the world. She couldn't think of anything to do but to reach up and pet his hair while making soft shushing sounds, as one would to calm a horse, but they seemed to work. "Rest. Just rest. You're safe, Zuko, you're safe." Long, heavy blinks. He finally nodded in weak understanding and let his eye fall closed again. At least being upright was helping his breathing, even if he wandered in and out of unconsciousness.

Eventually the long, cresting wave pulled to a stop. The next exit up to the outside could be seen, and Katara gathered up the water to push them gently to the small side pier. As she pulled away the fluttering want in her chest nearly compelled her to give Zuko another kiss, but she rebuked herself for it - no, that would be a shock to him, and a shock was the last thing he needed right now. All in due time. If she could wait that long, anyway. "Zuko..." His head rolled back, limp, as she guided him back by the shoulders and gently shook. "Zuko?" 

He groaned, a weak snarl of pain making its way onto his face, and she saw the muscles in his neck strain as he held up his head more firmly. "...'m here," he slurred. "Here." Long, heavy breaths, and when he finally met her eyes his gaze was clouded with pain.

"Zuko, l-" She stopped right as the L was curling on her tongue, and felt the blush hit her cheeks with a fierce heat. Love! She'd nearly called him love! Not that it wasn't inaccurate for her at that point, but all the nervousness over kisses and she'd nearly spoiled it in one syllable! Spirits, she couldn't believe herself being so foolish - 

Katara cleared her throat and tried again. "...Zuko, there's a rope ladder up. I don't know if I can carry you up it, but I can probably climb up and then bring you up using some waterbending. Is that all right?"

He nodded, still blinking blearily. "I can follow you up. I'm... I'm fine." There were few clearer lies ever uttered, but he was still making a sadly valiant effort for her sake. The rope ladder up was short, and it made Katara hopeful; maybe a short little trip, she thought, and then there would be sunlight, and -

She tipped open the door the ladder led to and was greeted with stale air and milky light.

A staircase. A very long one, from the look of it. All carved in jade, with spidery threads of white running through the green. Some earthbender had taken great care with it all, but it seemed unused; perhaps this was somebody's great well once upon a time. It seemed even more weathered than the path Katara had chosen, and that had been nearly blocked at times by weeds and detritus. This... well, this would be quite the ascent.

She pulled herself up, jaw nearly to the floor. What, exactly, was she going to tell Zuko? How were they going to make it up, much less - 

Something bumped against her leg and she nearly shrieked. Fortunately what quickly followed were Zuko's wheezing, mumbled apologies as he followed her up, pulling himself up out of the underground tunnels to fall on his back and stare up at the stairway. "...Oh. That looks... fun."

"Yeah. Terribly, uh, fun. ...Zuko, if I can make a stretcher out of ice, something like a sledge, I could - "

Zuko shook his head, his hair falling stringily in his face. "I can't run, but I can still walk. And if I can walk, I can make it up those stairs."

They seemed to go on forever, but at least there were hints of fresh air at the top. Katara looked back warily at him. "Are you sure? I mean -"

"I'm sure," he said in a tone that told her that he had made up his mind and wouldn't be dissuaded from this course.

And with that, they began to climb up the jade steps.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I realize this chapter is shorter than the previous, but expect chapters to be about this size. I'm hoping this means they will come more frequently. Thank you for reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ))


	4. Chapter 4

At first she took the shallow steps by threes, then twos, then step by single step. Then she braced against the handrail carved into the wall. Then she leaned forward to brace against the steps themselves. And then she crawled.

Each jade step was impressively carved from one massive vein of stone, but most importantly, they were slick with winter sleet and ice. Sweat froze on her brow the closer she got to the surface. Licks of bitter cold wind made their way down the shaft, ripping through her, and surely doing worse to Zuko; the wind skimmed over the top of the opening, and she knew from how it howled it would only get worse.

Eventually the handrail and wall disappeared into a wide opening. She grabbed at it, pulled herself up, and then let a braying sort of laugh of relief escape her. Even though it was icy and miserable at the top, they'd made it. They'd done it. They were finally -

Well, she was finally free, anyway. In the haze of exhaustion, it took her far too long to remember Zuko, and a bright flash of terror scurried through her thoughts. "Zuko? Zuko, are you -" There, down behind her. Only a few steps behind but obviously having crawled far longer than she had. She could see his chest rising and falling in breaths but it was obvious from how he was sprawled limp on the shallow steps that he had worked to the point of exhaustion, and had passed out a mere few dozen steps from the surface.

White-hot guilt washed over her in swamping waves, and she scrambled back down, legs trembling in exhaustion. "Oh spirits, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She eventually made her way to him, shaking his shoulder for a moment to see if he would wake up. All she managed to get was a dull groan of pain, and the sensation that his skin was almost blisteringly hot. A good sign, truthfully. At least she hoped she was remembering that old tome right, and how it said that it was near-impossible for a Firebender to worry over frostbite, with their own inner fire there to make up the difference in body heat. It had to be that, she thought firmly. Not an infection. Not something rotting from the inside-out. It had to be.

After a long moment's thought, she eventually slung him over her shoulders in a fireman's carry. He was heavy to her tired muscles - but not as heavy as he should be, she thought with a moment of worry. He was battered, bruised, starved - it was a miracle he was continuing to breathe as it was. The last thing he needed was to die in the middle of nowhere in some failure of a rescue.

So Katara squared her shoulders and pressed on.

There was a plaque at the top of the steps - she paused, aching, for a rest and read it - "Huh, apparently Avatar Kyoshi did them. I think that's earned Aang at least, I don't know, a glare, or something. It's almost his fault, right?" Her voice was thin and small against the howling gale but it somehow helped to pretend as if Zuko could hear her. "Almost. Sort-of. Not really, I guess." She groaned as she looked up. A long cable-car funicular stretched up a rocky mountain face, already covered in snow and ice that was dirty and dingy from age instead of pure virginal white. That was the only way forward, she thought, so that was the only way they could go.

The snow crunched beneath her feet as she stumbled forward, each step lurching and waddling with the added weight, breathing through pursed lips as she struggled with her own exhaustion. There was a small house at the end of the long cable - and more importantly, there was a boiler room attached to the building, where all the machinery retreated into. If they had to get to the top of this mountain, that was the first place to look. The door was unlocked, so all she had to do was swing it open clumsily and -

"Spirits!"

The smell hit her before the sight of it. Apparently animals had crept in the windows and helped themselves to most of the man's face, but not before the boiler room had kept his corpse partially thawed and rotting for quite some time. She gagged against the smell and recoiled before, finally, bringing her hands up, waterbending away snow to push the corpse to the side and envelop it in a smothering layer of ice. The funicular's conductor. No doubt the sword that had slashed his throat had been in the hand of some Goshawk Queen soldier - it was far more methodical and precise a wound than could be attributed to simple bandits. That, and the Goshawk emblem painted on the wall in blood. Somebody had wanted this known as their brutality.

Deep in the bowels of the machinery, something groaned, low and deep. For a moment Katara thought it was an animal - or worse, a survivor - and froze in fear before finally moving forward. Just metal bending and warping against being stuck in place. Well... she could at least do something about that, she supposed. Coal, a boiler, a place for steam to rise and turn the mechanics... Gingerly, she set Zuko's limp form down. "This would be a convenient time to wake up, by the way," she murmured. "...But take your time." He said nothing, of course. In fact, he had been so very still that Katara was starting to worry. That was why she diverted over to the small locker that the corpse had been perched in front of, and pushed it open inch by inch. A stroke of luck - the now-dead worker had brought an extra set of clothes with him, including a good, fluffy coat. Wrestling it onto Zuko was about as easy as trying to mummify a bowl of noodles, but it was better than him being out shirtless in the cold. She hesitated, crouching beside him, before finally leaning in and taking a chance by pressing a soft kiss on his forehead. She could distract him with that later, when he wasn't in the midst of fighting for his life.

His eyebrows furrowed for just a moment, and he gave a small sigh at the kiss. Just enough of a response for Katara to sigh in relief.

The machinery was, quite frankly, an impenetrable mess of metal to her. Toph, she was sure, would have had it sorted out in a matter of moments. Sokka would have been enthralled for days. But all she could barely make out was a boiler, and a whole lot of gears. At least where to put the coal was obvious...

Three bumps on the head, a faceful of coal dust and several broken matches later, the machinery at least began to sing - a thready note of steam being forced through some small hole. That became lurching into life. And that became scrambling to pick up Zuko's limp body and running outside. Every muscle screamed at her as she dashed forward, emitting a series of curses that would have impressed even Toph; the cable car started to lift off, but with one desperate leap, she managed to get herself into the thing. It swung unsteadily, but the machinery below chugged away merrily despite the carnage that had surrounded it. The long climb up left her clutching at Zuko mostly out of her own nervousness, her knuckles white around his shoulders as the ground retreated away from them. Along the mountainside, someone had painted a sign that said WELCOME TO SNOWPEAK.

"Well, I guess we know where we are now." Nervously, she chewed on the inside of her cheek in unconscious habit. It wasn't until she tasted blood that she caught herself and stopped, ashamed, and tried to direct the energy back to clutching at Zuko.

The funicular began to slow down by inches, then more quickly, and finally it crawled along to a near-complete stop. They were still a ways from the real terminus, where a pleasant-looking building with charming wooden trim housed the pulleys and gears at this end of the great machine, but it was enough for Katara to exit with only a slightly frightening jump downwards.

"Hello?" The wind was picking up again, making it hard to scream into it. "Hello?!" Nothing answered her. The entire village - small as it was - reeked of a tourist trap, and Katara figured it probably was one of the few places with snow in the summer. That meant in winter, of course, it was likely snowed in completely, but they had at least been able to make it up the mountain with the funicular line open. Small blessings, Katara figured. "Is anyone here?" The wind drew to a momentary standstill, and her voice echoed in the small town square. "...Anyone at all?" Her voice calmed to a mutter. "Nobody that's going to help us, I guess. This first house - it looks as good as any..." She shifted Zuko, slung over her shoulders, to be a little more stable, and then trudged onward with her jaw tight-set at the effort.

She didn't understand what had happened until she stumbled over something hard in the snow. It came up to her shins with every step, and she knew it was likely much deeper in occasional snowdrifts. A few desperate heartbeats, and she managed to keep herself balanced instead of dropping Zuko. But the thing in the snow - it wasn't a rock. It couldn't be, not right on where the main village pathways would be.

Gingerly, she pulled a hand off of Zuko's feet, letting it dangle, and motioned, snowbending, with a hand. As if a page of a book, a layer of snow peeled away to reveal what was there, and her mouth opened in a quick gasp.

"Spirits, this... this was a massacre."

The man whose corpse she had uncovered was preserved neatly by the ice, and looked almost as if he had died yesterday even if the accumulation of snow and the earlier corpse pointed to weeks of isolation. He couldn't have been any younger than fifty, with his hair just as white as the snow around him. His wife, she figured, must be around somewhere, similarly buried under the snow - it was a guess, but a good one, judging from his wedding ring.

She looked up and counted the houses - five, ten, twenty families perhaps, with a little general store in the main square. Not a large town. But they had been slaughtered wholesale by the Goshawk Queen's troops for the mere sin of living near a monument those underground rivers flowed towards.

Katara bit down the nausea in the back of her throat, adjusted Zuko on her shoulders, and walked onward. After all, there was nothing to be done now. Come spring, maybe she would see about proper burials, clearing away at least a mass grave with thawing snow and water and then laying each town member away with proper rites. But a phrase from one of the healing texts she had read stuck in her head: the dead must come after the living. Corpses could wait. Zuko couldn't.

The door was thankfully unlocked, and opened easily to what was a pleasantly small house's open kitchen and eating area. By some miracle there was already a cot set up nearby in the kitchen, and Katara rushed over to gently toss Zuko on the bed, laying him out and seeing the flickers of pain cross his face as she had to move his broken leg. Being inside, away from the cold, was good enough, but she quickly tossed the woolen blankets over him as well.

First emergency slightly mitigated, she thought. Now on to the rest.

The kitchen was still stocked, and fortunately there had been nothing in the pot. A quick examination of the other rooms in the house showed just how small it was - the open kitchen was truly the main room, and down a small hallway was what she had to assume the master bedroom was. There was a bathroom with a shower basin, and a large linen closet, and that was that. Still, good enough for their purposes. She piled a few more blankets in her arms and headed back to the kitchen, laying out each one on top of Zuko before going to see about the kitchen stove.

It was a squat, pot-bellied thing, its open grate ready to show the fire. Luckily for her the previous owners kept the matches and coal in sight, and it was easy enough to get the fire going again. As the flames licked along the coals, she let out her largest sigh of relief yet, holding her hands up to the warmth. Even if the bitter cold had snuck into the house, they would soon chase it out. Now... the only thing left to figure out was food.

Powdered milk. Tea leaves. Rice. The kitchen was full of staples, and fortunately the perishables were easy to dispose of through a crack in the window. She'd deal with properly composting them later; it was a shame to throw them out, but most were so far gone from their natural states that she could hardly tell what they had been, let alone worth the consideration of eating. But apparently wintering on the mountaintop required a lot of planning, and the perishables were few, leaving shelf-stable staples in their wake. As soon as she got the stove going, the kettle was washed out and placed on it for tea; another pot, and rice sat ready to get put in the water as soon as she could manage. Her stomach twisted hungrily and she couldn't help herself, finally reaching out to peel off and chew a bit of a jerkied, dried fish. Absolutely divine. Hunger truly was the best spice.

It wasn't until she noticed the basement opening that she truly celebrated. At the back of the pantry, the root cellar's doors opened up, leading down to what, at that moment, looked like nothing more than a wonderland of food - canned, smoked, dried; bags, tins, even a barrel in the corner. Katara couldn't help actually skipping down the rows of food. Evidently, the owners of the house weren't content to just overwinter in their house, but they wanted to spend their time eating good food. She was laughing in easy, chortling giggles, her hands full of different jars of food, when she made her way back up the stairs - 

\- And ran directly into Zuko.

The collision was almost disastrous - he was holding one of the kitchen knives in his hand, wild-eyed, leaning hard against the wall. "Where are they?"

"Spirits, Zuko, you shouldn't be up! At least not on your feet -"

"Can't," he choked out, shaking his head, causing more hair to fall in his face. "Where are they, Katara? Is it safe? We can't - they were following us, I know they were -"

There was a terrifying mania to his actions. It took a moment for Katara to place where she had seen such shaky and trembling madness before, and when she did, the realization was like a bolt of ice in her heart. Azula. She'd seen this before in his sister Azula.

"Zuko, please, put that down..." She was more guarded now, tense even as she reached out to him.

"I can't! I can't, don't you understand?! I can't go back there, I can't be there again -"

"Zuko - you're not thinking clearly -"

"I can't!" He sobbed out, near tears, even as he clutched at the knife. Every breath he took was rapid and shallow as he obviously was losing a fight against pain. "Please, promise me -"

"I promise, I won't let them capture you again," Katara said quickly, trying to pitch her voice as soothing as possible. "Now - please - give me the knife, Zuko, just put it down -"

"And if they come, you'll kill me before they capture me again," he demanded shakily. "Please. Just - I need you to promise me -"

Her mouth ran dry, and she bit her bottom lip before finally nodding yes. The relief that washed over Zuko was immediate, and she was able to reach out and gently take the knife from him. She returned it to where it was before on the counter before gingerly placing her hands on his upper arms to guide him back to bed. He was shaking badly, but at least the madness seemed to be slipping out of him - the feverish anxiousness that pushed him into panic - and he let himself be guided back to the bed. His leg, still in the icy splint, seemed to fracture a little more with each step, pushing bone through the meat of his leg to breach the skin.

"Rest," she murmured softly, constantly talking as one would to a nervous horse. "Just rest. I'm still here, Zuko. I'm not going anywhere. So just rest."

"You're sure -"

"I'll go outside and make us some defenses right now. I promise, Zuko, we'll be safe here. I promise you'll be safe. Just rest."

Mutely, he nodded, slumping down onto the bed and letting Katara cover him with the blankets once more. He was still shivering when she went back to the front door, opening it and immediately falling into a comfortably familiar waterbending stance.

Her exhaustion, despite all of her aching muscles, didn't occupy her mind as she worked. Instead the desperate fear in Zuko's mind weighed heavily on her with every arching movement she used to build icy walls around the house.


	5. Chapter 5

It took until the walls around the small house were halfway built, ice curling around in steady layer after layer, before the weight of what she had said finally struck Katara.

A suicide pact. That was what she had just made. (Her hands shook, making ripples in the glassy-clear wall of ice.) She'd promised to kill him - to kill the very man she was trying to save - instead of letting him fall into the hands of the Goshawk Queen again. To end his life, to still his heart, instead of becoming a prisoner once more. Worse still was that she understood it - Spirits knew they had tortured him for so long, and it made her sick just thinking of what they had nearly done to him before... well, before she interrupted them, and they began their escape. That interruption made nausea twist in her stomach even more fiercely. All of the Goshawk Queen's men, blood turned to ice, overflowing veins creating spikes jutting out of their bodies, all done in an instant of blind panic, all done by her...

Her teeth were chattering in the cold. By the time she had finished bending a solid, yet surprisingly clear, bubble of ice around the house, her fingers were numb. The smoke from the chimney scurried up out of the one hole on the very top that brought in fresh air. Every layer of ice had to be brought forth from snow, and out in the courtyard, the smooth snow had been disrupted just enough to begin to show the corpses below. Still, there was nothing she could do for them now. Living above the dead.

When she finally retreated into the warmth of the house, Zuko was sitting up again. It took her a moment to realize that he was clawing at his face - pawing at the bandage, punch-drunk from lack of sleep and pain but putting thick lines of clawmarks around his eye as he could. He was rocking back and forth, and instinctive sort of self-soothing, as he murmured fiercely to himself. At first she couldn't hear. Her heart held in her throat as she listened, bracing herself for the ramblings of someone gone completely mad.

"Be quiet, just be quiet, if they would just be quiet..."

"Zuko?" He lifted his head, startled, and for a moment looked ready to panic and run like a deer caught in a snare. But instead Katara reached out to take his hands in her own after quickly going over to him. "It's all right, I'm here. Just relax." He wavered for a moment before nodding, the action almost childish in its manner. A moment more and she found the bottle of medicinal soju the owners of the cottage had stocked; a few large sips of it and he obviously began to relax. With gentle murmuring and reassurances she coaxed him into laying back down again, though by inches, as he kept flinching awake and requiring more attention. Eventually he closed his remaining eye and seemed to drift off to sleep. Katara knew better than to assume it as such. It was unconsciousness, yes, but of a pained and frail type. She had merely gotten him to black out instead of anything as wholesome as falling asleep.

Still, it was something. For a moment her breath caught in her throat, tight and tense out of sympathy for him. For a moment she wanted nothing to weep over him and kiss him again and again as if that were the magic cure for every malady. But, Katara reminded herself, she could do that later. Priorities. And her first priority was to figure out what all of his murmuring was about.

He'd been clawing at his bandage, after all. Maybe it was something there. At least, she hoped it was. She had seen plenty of veterans who had come back suffering, as they so blissfully called it in euphamism, "battle fatigue", even when the battle was long over. As she unwound the bandages, she silently prayed it was something physical, and not ghosts and shadows in Zuko's mind plaguing him so soon.

She was right, and her prayers answered, but not in a way she ever would have hoped for.

Katara was used to gore. At some point a healer had to be. Blood, raw flesh, and broken skin were all part of her trade. An eye ripped out left behind a messy void of seeping red, flecked with bruised scraps of dying tissue. This was all expected, even normal. What wasn't was the squirming, dancing white in the middle of it all - the fat writhing grubs that turned to the light and unhinged their jaws in displeasure that their meal had been interrupted -

Maggots. They had packed his wound with maggots.

The realization of what he must have heard washed over her numbly. Some part of her brain refused to accept it, and shut down, unable to continue the train of thought; the professional in her took over, starting to clean the wound in a professional manner, looking to bend some water out and curling it almost like a spoon in order to scoop out the writhing maggots as well as the dirt and debris that remained. Jaw set and hands trembling, she managed to get to the door, then outside, and then cast it all on the snow. The bloodied water stained it pink. The maggots continued to thrash in their unhappiness, grasping at the air with their pincers.

Katara stared for a few long moments and then turned and politely threw up.

It only took a couple of heaves until she was gagging on nothing but air and bile. The first sob ripped through her like a knife and brought her to her knees, falling forward in the snow. The second was enough of a wail for her to cover her mouth by instinct. The air was bitterly cold, threatening to freeze the tears on her eyelashes. Most pressing, though, was the feeling almost of drowning - the feeling of inadequacy.  _Oh Spirits, she couldn't do this._  She couldn't do this. Zuko was almost certainly going to die no matter what she did, she was useless,  _she couldn't_  -

She reached over to pinch her own arm, hard, too hard, fingernails drawing a dot of bright red blood. No. She had to stop this. By force and by pain if necessary. She had to pull herself together, because she was Katara, and that was what she did - not panic even when everyone else was. She had to be the level-headed one.

The cold air seared her lungs, and she gulped it down greedily after the sobbing. And pointedly, she did not look at the maggots slowly freezing on the snow.

Inside, Zuko coughed in his sleep, and that was enough to make her scramble for the door. By the time she reached his bedside, bloody froth was at his mouth, and he grimaced in his sleep. Even as she worked at packing and rebandaging the wound where his eye had been, his lungs seemed to heave up more blood, leaving him spluttering and breathless. Each ragged breath grated on her, like fingernails on a chalkboard, making her flinch. She knew what that sound meant, after all, and it never meant good things.

One thing at a time, she reminded herself. It was time to take off the ice splint and see about the damage to his leg. Even as she did that, drawing her fingers up and away to melt the ice and spirit it away as water, things seemed to only get worse. As thick as tar and vile as pus, the oily black-shadow that had covered her - that had consumed her - still stuck to his leg, and already it smelled of rot.

Another wave of nausea. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her nose, holding her sleeve over her mouth. She had done this to him. She couldn't remember anything beyond the all-consuming anger, and the blackness reaching into her, but she had still been the one to do this to him. There hadn't been enough time to reflect on that, and part of her wished there had never been time to do any reflection on that fact at all. It was her fault, and it became clearer as she pulled away the ice that things were worse than she thought. Much worse.

There was only one solution, and it was making her hands shake to think of.

First, there was preparation. A bowl of good, clean, hot water - invaluable for any sort of procedure. Fresh clean cloth. Technically one of the former owner's tunics, but suitable to be torn into strips for bandages. The bottle of whiskey, beside the bed, ready and waiting.

Gingerly, she sat down on the cot, reaching out with some of the water. It hovered over his chest in a lazy swirl as she frowned, and then set to work, reaching in and visualizing the lines of chi flowing more smoothly. His ragged breathing halted for a perilous moment before continuing, gradually smoother than before. Finally, she returned the water to the bowl, daubing at his mouth with her sleeve. "Zuko?" Her voice was gentle and quiet as she leaned in, trying to push the hair out of his face and behind his ears. "Zuko, can you wake up for me?"

His remaining eye fluttered open, unfocused and detached. After a few more solid blinks, he nodded. And he looked exhausted. Despite Katara's efforts, breathing was still difficult and exhausting work.

"Zuko, I..." She paused, lip and voice trembling before she gulped solidly and tried again. "Your leg, I mean. It's worse than I thought. A... a lot worse."

His chest rose and fell with each gasping breath. She could see his ribs pressing out, like the bars of a cage for some frantic animal. Finally he managed to find space for a few words. "I know."

"A lot worse, Zuko. I..." Her voice trailed off in nervousness again, dry and weak. "I can't save it."

His expression remained inscrutable as he continued to gasp for breath. For a long moment he stared ahead of him instead of at her, before finally closing his remaining eye.

"Be quick?"

His voice shook. He was begging her. There was nothing dignified about it, not even in the slightest. At that moment it seemed as if the years had disappeared - or something more, she thought, given that he didn't even seem to be the angry young exile he was when they first met. He was scared. Terrified. A child's sort of terror, a response to the entire world falling down around them.

"I will," she promised, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, Zuko, I'm so sorry..." She blinked hard, tears clouding her vision, and tried hard to not think about how she was about to mutilate the man she loved. No, she had to be professional. She had to be Katara. Always ready with an answer. Always holding the group together. Always responsible. "H-Here... I couldn't find any laudanum, but -"

He took the bottle of whiskey for her and, in one oddly graceful movement, brought it to his lips for a solid gulp before setting it back down again.

The wind outside began to pick up, hitting the shell of ice around the house, whistling across the top opening.

And the rest followed in grim silence. Katara pulling up his shredded pants leg. Zuko staring up at the ceiling. Her shaking off the tears, and him bracing for the pain. There was no other option. It was already starting to rot, thanks to the inky-black sludge ground into the wounds. And if she, one of the best healers in the world, thought it hopeless...

Gingerly, Katara held her hands out, then brought them towards her chest. A curl of water poured up and out of the bowl, ready and obedient for its grim task. She placed her hands together - the lick of water formed a flat blade of ice. The razor-sharp ice glinted in the dim light, and Katara saw Zuko's hands curl up into fists out of anxiousness.

"Ready?" She whispered.

"As I'll ever be."

She positioned the blade for a straight drop down, just below the knee. And then she cringed away, trying not to burst into tears again, her rough breaths betraying the emotion still whirling and writhing inside her. He set his jaw, closed his eyes, and waited for the blow.

A sharp downward motion.

The blow came.

The scream that he gave hurt her as sure as any knife could hope to stab. It was a wailing roar, a sound of agony that seemed to pull the very life out of him along with the breath; it ended in a lick of flame hovering above his lips. Blood gushed. The blade dissolved into water - cleansing, clotting, stopping the tide of red before it did more than begin to soak the bedsheets. The cry he gave had made him arch his back, pressing up on his arms - for a moment he hung there, staring unfocused at the ceiling, as the sound of his own heartbeat rushed in his ears.

Then he fell back, utterly limp.

The only thing Katara could think was  _Oh Spirits, I've killed him._


	6. Chapter 6

"Zuko...? _Zuko?"_ Her voice cracked even as she called out to him, her heartbeat rushing steady in her ears. But she got nothing by way of a response. He remained worryingly still and limp. The urge - the base, primal need - to scream licked at the back of her throat, and she had to swallow it down in heady gasps, gritting her teeth.

No. Now was not the time to panic. This was when Zuko needed her to be the most professional and calm as she could ever be.

She allowed herself a small sob as the enormity of what she had done to him momentarily caught up with her, breaching through her thoughts like an orca's snapping jaws bringing down a otter-penguin, before she stuffed it back down into her chest. Now was not the time for weakness. If she was weak, he was certainly gone. Her hand went to his neck, probing, even as the water swirling around the stump of his leg cleansed and healed the torn flesh. That cry he gave, thankfully, hadn't been a death-knell; his heart was still beating, but weak and frantic in its pace, a mere flutter where it should have been a steady beat.

In that moment he seemed paradoxically, almost impossibly small - mere sinew hanging off where flesh should have been, fitting his bones like a cheap coat, everything too thin, too frail, too light. When she went to pick him up, his head lolled, limp, to the side, casting a long thin strand of blood from his mouth. For a few seconds she thought, with some terror, that he wasn't breathing at all, until she held a hand in front of his face. There it was. A slim bit of hot breath.

Behind her the long slanting rays of sunset snuck in through her ice fortifications, and Katara came to the realization - as it sat in her throat, cold and hard - that unless something drastically changed, Zuko wasn't going to live through the night.

Spirits knew she'd cursed his Fire Nation birth before, back when they barely knew each other and she only knew every Fire Nation soldier as the enemy, but now she found herself loathing it once more. Any good physician among the nations could tell you about basic bending theory as it applied to time of day and time of death: a waterbender, ruled by the moon, was more likely to rally at night and die at the morning, just like how an airbender was more likely to survive if placed in a propped-up bed or an earthbender on a pallet on the floor as to be surrounded by their elements. But a firebender was ruled by the sun, and with the sun's rays diminishing, it was only a matter of time until Zuko's life ebbed away.

The first real sob ripped through her and she held a hand up to her mouth as if trying to stuff it back in. But that only made things worse, somehow; it seemed as though everything came apart at once, and suddenly the sunset light was fractured, kaleidoscopic, through the prisms of her tears. She picked him up, scooping him into her arms, holding him close and letting his head rest against her shoulder. The sound of his struggling breaths was almost drowned out by the sound of her sobbing. Suddenly all those missed opportunities to tell him how her her heart had ached now hurt in clear relief. The spirits had given him back to her for such a short time, and still she was such a loathsome coward she hadn't been able to tell him how she felt about him...

Fingers splayed, she ran her hands up his back, instinctively searching for anything she could do to help - any place his aura streamed bright with pain like banners on a battlefield, any place there was some bit of pain that she could ease. There were innumerable places to do so, of course, but she finally settled around his heart.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind she stopped her sobbing with a little gasp, pondering as her lip trembled. Maybe there was something to do. Maybe there  _was_ something there. As the sun's rays retreated down to end another day, his heart was faltering, weakly skipping beats, wandering out of tempo. Perhaps it wasn't technically bloodbending. Perhaps it could be forgiven, as long as it was for a good cause. Sure, she was imposing her will over another's body, but yet... but yet...

Selfishness, that's what it was. She held him closer, gritting her teeth against the tears that seemed inevitable. Damnable, unforgivable selfishness. She was subverting the will of nature, maybe even his actual preference, just in order to have him close.

But she couldn't say no.

Gently, she massaged his back, gingerly tracing circles around his heart. There. Another falter. All she had to do was figure out what was going wrong and correct it back to the familiar  _lub-dub_ of a proper heartbeat. Up, letting the blood fill and flow, and then down and out to the rest of the body. Up, down, wait. There was a rhythmic nature to it that made it easy to understand on some deep and primal level. Up, down, wait. Up-down-wait.  _Don't die, please. Don't-die-please._

The minutes rolled on to hours. It was exhausting work but she knew unless she continued to help him, an unassisted heartbeat would be his last. His body remained limp in her arms - but warm, breathing, still barely alive. It was enough to know that.

 _Up-down-wait. Don't-die-please. I'm-begging-you, I'm-begging-you_.

After an age the first fingers of sunrise snuck through the window, distorted by the wall of ice outside. It was only after it was blazing in the window that she noticed his heartbeat growing stronger and more firm, eventually enough for her to let her fingers spread out more distantly and then, finally, let go of him at all. He was breathing more deeply now - deep and steady, with a heartbeat to match.

If she hadn't been so exhausted, she would have cried.

As it was she guided him gently back onto the bed before standing up, staggering as she did so, looking at everything that had happened. All of the blood on the sheets, all of the mess left behind... his severed leg was still there, encrusted with the tar-like, pustulent black substance. It made her stomach flip once again to notice it. But this wasn't a hospital, where nurses could flit around her and safely deal with the residue of fighting for someone's life. She would have to deal with it herself.

Gingerly, she rolled him to put clean sheets on the bed - even if she did pause midway through to simply hold him close, nuzzling against his shoulder and listening to the comforting sounds of his steady breathing - and bundled it up with his diseased, dead leg in the middle. There was no proper incinerator, no medical waste disposal - nowhere else to go other than outside. Already the vultures had come to flock down upon the city, now that she had accidentally begun to uproot the bodies in the village. They seemed exceptionally pleased to have one more bit of food to chew on.

She tried not to think about it too much.

Several hours later, the house was perfumed with the scent of milk tea, strong and sweet. That was the first thing Zuko noticed. The second thing he noticed (just barely - his body seemed so oddly distant and disconnected) was the sensation of fingers intertwined with his own. Sleepily, he blinked, trying to bring the world into focus, but his body was still naturally so relaxed that it was hard.

Something gentle, damp and warm on his forehead - a kiss. Another hand brushing back his own as the first squeezed his fingers. "Ssh, shh. You're all right. Just relax."

He nodded at this, letting the next few breaths roll out as sighs. The pain still seemed far-off and distant, though looming like stormclouds, and he knew it was only a matter of time until the storm broke and agony rained down on him - but for right now he was content to merely observe it on the horizon. Katara's fingers pulled out of his own, flitting around his face to push his hair out of the way, and then footsteps - only a few. Her fingers snaked underneath his head to lift it up. "Here. Drink as much of this as you can, all right? Your body needs the fluids, and the nourishment. It's from a powdered mix, but..." He stopped listening, instead near-greedily slurping at the drink. It tasted heavenly, and he was sure he made a sound to match. Her relieved laughter was even sweeter than the drink. "I won't tell Uncle Iroh if you won't." This made him crack a smile, and even if  his vision was still bleary, he could tell she was beaming.

"There. I'll make you another cup. Just sit back and relax." He nodded in understanding, sinking back into the covers with a ragged sigh. "Does it hurt too badly?"

Zuko thought about this for a long moment before shaking his head. "No," he finally replied, voice thick with exhaustion. "Only my chest, a little."

"I guess I should have expected that," she admitted, sounding almost ashamed. But her tone was replaced with something more tender as she leaned in again to pet at his forehead, brushing his hair away. "I nearly lost you last night. Again, I mean." Her voice shook, near-breaking. "I had something I wanted to do before then. And I'm going to do now, before anything else happens."

He was just about to say something by way of curiosity before her kiss came - sweet, long and slow - gently parting his lips, tongue slipping into his eager mouth as he returned it happily.


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment, she merely watched his face as she pulled away. An expression of quiet bliss stuck to his bruised countenance, lips slightly pursed even at the end of the kiss, teardrops just barely clinging to his long eyelashes. Another few long breaths and suddenly Zuko frowned.

"But if I'm dead," he slurred, "why are you here, Katara?"

"What?" She blinked rapidly before a laugh escaped her, the sound an ungainly gasp of relief more than anything else. "You're not dead, Zuko."

"But you just kissed me." He squinted in confusion, eyebrows knitting together, lips further pursing in thought. "That doesn't... that doesn't happen. Not unless I'm dreaming. ...Am I dreaming?"

"No, you're awake. And you're here, with me."

"But..." He seemed stuck on that word, as much as he was stuck on the situation. "How do you know...?"

"Your letters." Even as she sat back, giving him some distance, she still craved some physical touch. So she took one of his hands in her own, fingers intertwining with his as he gave a weak squeeze of acknowledgement, and held it close to her chest. "All the rough drafts when you were trying to figure out how to tell me you loved me..." She sucked in a quick breath at the memory. "I read them all. Carried one with me, for the longest time. All of them were perfect, Zuko." Her voice began to crack, wavering with tears; the maelstrom of emotions in her chest finally started to seep out to the surface. "All of them were. And I thought I had lost my chance to tell you that I felt the same way."

His good eye widened in surprise, and he looked up at her with a sort of innocence that momentarily flummoxed her. "You... you do?"

"I just kissed you, Zuko," she teased even as her voice was thick with tears. "You don't give that sort of kiss to someone you don't love."

Gingerly, he reached up, stretching out his trembling hand to catch the first few hot tears spilling onto her cheek. He said nothing, but the gesture was enough - as broken, bruised and bleeding as he was, he still was more concerned with her than with himself. And that made a fresh sob come to her lips even as she leaned in to cup his head with both hands and give him a fierce kiss.

"I love you," she whispered, before blurting out: "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

This brought another frown to his face. "I'm hurting you? I'm sorry, that's not -"

"Shh, I'm just rambling," she soothed, kissing at his cheeks before laying over him, cheek pressed against cheek. He snaked one hand up onto her shoulder and into her hair, holding her close, leaning into the nuzzle. For a moment they were there together, and each trembling breath was simply enough.

And yet, there was still so much to be done...

She pulled away, giving him another kiss on the forehead. His hand dropped to her shoulder, and then she guided it the rest of the way to the bed, kissing his fingertips as she did. His breathing was still labored and pained, and even if he was momentarily distracted, it was only a matter of time until the pain caught up with him.

"I need you to rest here," she cautioned gently as she reached out to pet the hair away from his face. Reaching out to touch him was irresistible - she couldn't stop herself, and didn't even try to prevent it, given how much obvious comfort her touch was. "Until I get back, all right? Just rest."

It was nearly painful to leave him, to stop reaching out to him for even just a moment, but somehow she tore herself away. One last kiss threatened to be three dozen last kisses; one last touch threatened to be holding hands for what seemed like an eternity. What finally settled it was when he slipped off into sleep, a - quite frankly - ridiculously dopey smile on his face.

The village was deathly quiet, as usual. A small wind scurried along her shoulders as soon as she stepped out of the protective bubble of ice surrounding the cottage. The vultures cawed, scattering as she passed, and she looked around the village and sighed. If there was some indication of where to go, it would have been easier. The general store doubled as a barber shop, given the signage, but that was all there was. With another long sigh, she frowned into the icy wind and started to trudge through the snow. The best hint she had was to peer in windows and try to figure out which building might have housed the town doctor.

After five tries, she managed to guess correctly, and within a few hours Katara found herself lugging a large amount of goods back to the cottage. Zuko was still asleep, even snoring softly, as she made her way back in. And then she began to unpack.

An hour later she gingerly held another teacup under Zuko's nose. He took a few deep breaths in of the steam before waking up with a small groan, and she lifted his head to help him take a long gulp of the tea. "Here. It's the proper stuff this time. I hope black is fine instead of green."

He shook his head that it was fine, struggling to sit up a little more after she pulled the cup away. Eventually he fell back with a sharp cry of pain, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth. Immediately her hands went to his face - brushing back his hair, petting at his cheeks, any little gesture that offered an ounce of comfort. "Ssh, shh, it's all right, don't strain yourself... here." Katara rummaged around in the bag of supplies she had brought back, eventually pulling out a bottle and uncorking it. Laudanum. Well, technically, it was Miss Lee's Patent Nostrum, but she had read the ingredients and it was close enough. If he was going to survive this, she knew he needed something for the pain, and so she lifted the bottle to his lips and tipped it back. He gulped it down, pulling a face.

"Ugh."

"I know. It tastes awful. But it'll help." She sat down on the bed, managing to wedge herself into a spare bit of the cot. "It's laudanum. A necessary evil."

"I hate taking it," he slurred grumpily, before shaking his head. "Sorry. I know you must have gone to some trouble to get it, and..."

"It's all right," she soothed, petting at his temple with her fingertips. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," he answered almost automatically before actually seeming to ponder the question. "I mean... pretty good, given the circumstances. ...My foot hurts."

"Here?" She reached down, putting a hand on his remaining foot.

"No," he answered with some trepidation. "...The other one." She was about to say something when he cut her off: "I know it's not - it's not there. It's just..."

"Phantom pain," Katara murmured quietly. "It'll die down soon. I promise."

For a moment they sat there in silence. Zuko was still straining to breathe at times, and soon the bandage where his eye had once been would need changing. It was easy to think of how much had been lost - of how little of Zuko remained for her to love - and it made her heart ache.

Evidently she wasn't the only one, as Zuko spoke, gaze unfocused around tears and voice trembling. "I don't understand..."

"Understand what?"

"How you can love me." His voice was very small. "Especially when there's Aang, who's... healthy, and... and whole, and -"

She interrupted him with a kiss - fierce and hot, just like the tears slipping out of her eyes and falling onto his cheeks. "Don't say that," she begged hoarsely. "Don't. You're here and I love you, and that's what matters. That's all that matters." All she wanted to do, and all she did, was to take him into her arms, pulling him up, holding him close; he clung to her desperately like a shipwrecked man with a lifesaving piece of wood. He tucked his head to rest on her shoulder, almost hiding in her hair, and she softly smiled.

For a long time they stayed that way. Eventually Zuko's breathing evened out as the laudanum hit him, and he quietly began to snore while curled up in Katara's arms. As for Katara, she stayed awake.

He was so frail, now. Just skin and bones. His sunken cheeks attested to that, and she could see his ribs with every breath - even the ones that were clearly cracked. Long lash-marks crossed his back, no longer open wounds but not healed. He seemed exhausted, and surely, if it wasn't for the laudanum, would have been in pain. And that was besides his main injuries. Carefully, she traced one of the wounds on his back. Whip-marks overlapped long burn marks. They went down into the small of his back and didn't seem to stop there. It made her breath catch in her throat when she considered just how very all-consuming they could possibly be. Given what they were going to do to him - where they were going to shove a hot poker -

She set her jaw and held him closer. Whatever they did to him made a sick anger burn brightly in her chest whenever she thought of it. He gave a soft whimper in his sleep, and she kissed the top of his head. But at least... at least...

Katara wasn't sure what the next few days would hold, but at least they had each other.

* * *

_Author's note: Sorry for this short chapter. Trying to get back into the swing of this story. I promise stuff beyond utter glurge will happen in the next chapter. Thank you for your patience, everyone, I should be writing more frequently soon!_


	8. Chapter 8

With every cup of tea, with every bowl of congee, Zuko grew stronger. It was obvious as the color came back into his face, his skin no longer so terribly pallid, and it was even obvious after he had a big meal as he laid back and slept, stomach bulging, body near-delirious with delight at what to do with these sudden resources. By the time she helped him brush out his hair, he even looked almost human again. It helped, of course, that he smiled so easily at her. She remembered how when they first met his smiles had been rare, sheepish things, and even then they were quickly replaced with the subdued formality one expected of the Firelord.

But here he could smile. And he did. Almost all the time. It made something deep within her sing whenever he did, and she was glad for it.

It didn't take long, however, for things to gently sour. Deep in the middle of an opium-addled dream, Zuko gave an all-over twitch in his sleep, followed by a keening whimper. It was enough to bring Katara in from the kitchen where she frowned worriedly, going over to him. "Zuko...?"

His face was locked in a tight grimace, not as if fighting off something but rather as if waiting for the blow. A few tight panting breaths of fear. Something was going on - some memory had trapped him - so she reached out to gently shake his shoulders. He recoiled at this with a flinch and a cry that nearly made her leap back in surprise. Wild-eyed, he stared up at her with a sort of blankness that was terrifying, as if he didn't register where he was, or even who she was. "Zuko, please, calm down," she pleaded. "It's okay. You're all right."

"But they were here," he slurred, half-whimpering. "They were here - we're not safe, they were - "

"Shh, it's all right. We're safe. I made us a barricade, remember? It'll take them a long while to get through all that ice, even if they do make it up the mountain." She sat on the side of his cot, reaching over to pet the hair out of his eyes. "And I haven't forgotten my promise," she added in a small voice. Slowly, the wild panic seemed to recede, even if it was by inches. A few more trembling breaths and he all but flung himself into her touch, nuzzling against her hand.

She leaned forward to kiss him gently on the forehead before pulling back. "I want to try something. Do you think you could walk if I helped you? Or I can carry you, whichever. But there's a shower in the bathroom. They have running water here."

"What you're really wanting to say is that I reek and need a bath before I get even more mangy," he joked softly, cracking a smile.

Katara laughed, shaking her head. "I wasn't going to say THAT... but it can only help. And I'll be there every step of the way. I promise." She took one of his hands into her own and gave it a squeeze. "You can even keep your pants on if you like. I understand."

"No, no -" he shook his head as if shaking off the bad memories that might lead to that desire. "I'll be fine. Just, ah... don't stare too obviously."

"Don't worry, I won't, I promise." She gave him another soft kiss on the cheek before looping an arm around his shoulders and back, helping to lift him up. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

With a grunt, they clumsily got up, for a moment both of them scrambling on the verge of falling until Katara got her feet underneath her and helped Zuko up. Immediately he gave a long pained exhale. He had worked his body to the breaking point and it was obvious how far he still needed to go, but things like basic hygiene could not be ignored.

"Good," Katara soothed, helping to talk him through it. "Put your leg forward... there we go. See, you're getting the hang of this. When we get back we'll be able to challenge everyone to three-legged races and win," she joked, making him give a tiny laugh. It still took, from his expression, deep determination to move forward.

Fortunately the cottage was small, and the bathroom not that far away. There was indeed a shower, with a large copper basin underneath it, connected to a drain. Gingerly, she helped Zuko into the bathtub, and as soon as he sat down he relaxed with a ragged sigh. After a moment more she turned the water on, letting it cascade down; only when the water was high enough did he shimmy out of his pants to leave himself fully nude. Thanks to turning on the heating element beforehand, the water was pleasantly warm as it rained down on him, and Katara had already brought a pile of fluffy towels from the linen closet. She kissed his cheek as the water filled, content to watch his contentment.

"I hope you don't mind sandalwood soap, it's all I could find," she finally said, breaking the happy silence.

"Hm?" By now his wet hair was sticking to his face, and he pushed it aside to see out of his one remaining eye. "That's fine. At this point everything's fine, Katara. Don't worry about it." His smile was small and exhausted, but still there.

It was easier than it had been earlier to find what reminded her of that boy from before - the stumbling fifteen-year-old who didn't know what true friendship was before becoming part of the glue that tied them all together, before becoming the missing puzzle piece. The fifteen-year-old who was desperate to gain her trust. It made Katara wonder if he was in love with her even then, even as he quietly accepted her vendetta against the man who killed her mother and passed no judgement but merely stood by her side and aided her as he was able. The world had changed several times over since that point, of course. It was hard to find that boy in a stuffy firelord or the near-corpse he had been a few days prior. But in that smile there was the hint of a spark, of a flame that was undying, being kindled back into life by diligent nursing.

That was what made her lean in to kiss him even as she scrubbed lightly at his back. The first kiss was shy, almost chaste, but he returned it eagerly, and then more so. Her soapy hands snaked under his arms to hold him close, not caring about getting herself wet, and for a moment they simply had each other, sharing warmth, letting moans slip into each other's mouths -

And then Zuko gave a sharp grunting cry of pain and pulled away. Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. "S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I can't -"

"Shh, it's all right," she soothed, though on the verge of panic herself. He drew his good leg up, curling forward and grimacing against apparent waves of pain. And Katara frowned at her own helplessness. The only thing she could think to do was gently rub his back. Her fingers ran over every whiplash and burn mark, and that's when she finally began to notice.

The whiplashes and burn marks didn't stop at mid-back. They went all the way down. And from what she dared glimpse, they spread even onto his inner thighs. Subtle other clues slipped into place - the shellshocked look on his face when they had brought out the pokers, as if something similar had happened before - the amount of pain he was now in - how his paranoia went beyond simple modesty -

All she could think to do was wrap her arms around him and hug him fiercely as the weight of what they had done to him hit her.

Thankfully his breathing was evening out from pained gasps, and he leaned into the touch.

"Zuko?" She finally asked, voice small. "Do you trust me?"

He blinked, tilting his head to look at her. "Of course I do. Why do..."

"Shh. Just trust me, that's all I ask." She kissed him gently before plunging her hands into the water. "Let me help you. Please, just let me help you." He seemed to realize what she was going to do moments before she started, but his protesting gave way to a deep, guttural noise of relief. For a long moment his expression was one of sublime pain before he turned around in the bathtub, reaching out to cling to her fiercely as she worked. Every burn mark and every whip slash between his thighs couldn't be fully erased - not without many treatments - but she could at least ease the pain.

It was only when she finished, pulling back from the haze of concentration, that she realized he was weeping in relief.

Katara kissed at his tears, gently murmuring reassurances to him as she nuzzled close. Eventually she ended up cupping his face in her hands, wiping away each fresh tear as he wept. "It's all right. I love you, I love you so very much." Then, after a moment more, she added in a tone of soft seriousness: "You don't have to bear this alone. I'm here."

He responded with a fierce kiss - one that let her know the fire within him was still burning.

The rest of the bath was thankfully uneventful. He came out surprisingly pink after all the scrubbing and smelling of sandalwood, his jet-black hair limp and damp around his shoulders. The former occupants of the house were, fortunately, almost their sizes; the pants were a little too big and a little too short, and the shirt too broad in the shoulders, but it was at least clean clothing. Katara had already changed into one of the woman's outfits - a spring green dress that was too tight in the bust (well, most things were on her, these days), but nonetheless it would do until she could manage some laundry.

Gently, she helped him limp along back to the bed, where he all but collapsed with a ragged sigh. Evidently it had been exhausting, because he closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

Katara didn't mind. Instead she sat beside him on the cot, pushing his wet hair out of his face and kissing his cheek. When the nightmares came for him this time, she would be ready to help chase them away.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, this is not exactly to the audience here but the audience on FF.N, but in the interests of equality here we go:
> 
> As you may or may not know, I've been struggling hard the past few years with my health and specifically chronic pain. At some point I said I was in too much pain to write the stories I care about the most, and then that slowly has become over time to be not writing stories at all because of the comments of how my quality seems to slip. So understand that this is the story where I go 'screw it, I wanna WRITE'. Do I aim to make a coherent and entertaining tale? Definitely! But this is going to be less War and Peace, more paperback you picked up at the airport bookstore. It's self-indulgent to the max and if you go hunting for those master strokes to elevate it beyond the fanfiction of mere mortals, you're going to be disappointed. This is me, writing, because I want to write. It may be a little crap compared to my other stuff, so here's your warning. But if you're cool with that because, let's face it, even at my worst I still aim to make decent fanfic, here's a toast to you having fun reading what I've written!


End file.
